THE    OLD    KNOWLEDGE 


THE 


OLD     KNOWLEDGE 


BY 

STEPHEN    GWYNN 


Nefo  fork 
THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON  :  MACMILLAN   &  CO.,  LTD. 
IQOI 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1901, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Norfooott  ISress 

J.  a  Cuihing  ft  Co.  -  Berwick  fc  Smith 
Norwood  MMI.  U.S.A. 


TO 

MABEL   DEARMER 


20G0733 


THE    OLD    KNOWLEDGE 


CHAPTER   I 

GREY  sky,  grey  hills,  grey  leaping  water,  a  grey 
drizzle  of  rain ;  it  was  not  a  cheerful  prospect  that 
Miss  Millicent  Carteret  looked  out  on,  as  she  sat 
enveloped  in  mackintosh  on  the  deck  of  the  little 
steamer,  and  stared  down  the  lough  rather  for- 
lornly, with  wide,  humorous,  enigmatical  eyes, 
while  the  boat  splashed  and  panted  across  three 
miles  of  choppy  sea.  "  That,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  must  be  the  Atlantic  "  —  that  grey  line  a  long  way 
off,  where  the  winding  walls  of  rugged  mountain, 
which  enclosed  the  lough,  opened,  and  let  the  eye 
out.  Now  it  was  lost ;  the  walls  closed  again.  She 
had  seen  the  Atlantic ;  she  had  reached,  beyond 
all  manner  of  doubt,  a  wild,  wind-swept  country, 
singularly  unlike  the  decent  squares  of  Bayswater. 
She  had  carried  her  point;  she  had  embarked  on 
her  adventure;  she  was  all  but  at  her  journey's 
end;  but  now  that  she  approached  it,  her  courage 
was  oozing  out  at  her  finger-nails,  and  decidedly 
the  welcome  was  not  inviting. 


2  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

When  the  duckling  takes  to  the  water  for  the 
first  time,  it  is  full  of  confused  and  embarrassing 
emotions,  awakened  by  the  hen's  lamentable  cluck- 
ing on  the  bank.  Certainly  the  water  is  cold; 
certainly  there  may  be  awful  things  underneath 
that  will  drag  a  swimmer  down ;  certainly  its  feath- 
ers will  get  into  an  untidy  mess.  But  nature  is 
strong,  self-assertion  is  native  to  ducklings,  and 
the  first  chill  of  the  water  is  soon  forgotten,  as  the 
duckling  considers  how  funny  the  hen  looks  on 
the  bank. 

Millicent's  eyes  changed  their  colour,  that  had 
been  almost  as  grey  as  the  lough;  a  warm  glow 
of  laughter  suffused  them. 

"  Poor  dear  mother !  If  she  could  only  see 
me!" 

If  there  was  ever  a  lady  bred  up  in  the  best 
and  most  refined  traditions  of  the  hen-coop,  fed 
at  stated  seasons,  and  accustomed  only  to  stately 
and  gentle  exercise,  to  whom  providence  com- 
mitted the  charge  of  a  vagrant  audacious  offspring, 
prone  to  the  most  undesirable  explorations,  and 
filled  full  of  instincts  that  would  turn  cold  the 
blood  of  any  well-regulated  hen  —  that  lady,  it 
must  be  acknowledged,  was  Mrs.  Carteret.  Milli- 
cent  was  the  whole  of  her  brood,  and  for  several 
years  a  very  satisfactory  brood.  She  was  indeed 
wilful,  but  Mrs.  Carteret,  who  had  been  a  delicate, 
ineffectual  wife,  found  it  quite  natural  to  be  a 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  3 

delicate,  ineffectual  mother;  and  if  Millicent  was 
spoiled,  at  least  Millicent  took  a  proper  interest 
in  her  frocks,  and  had  a  number  of  accomplish- 
ments. These  Mrs.  Carteret,  poor  lady,  thought 
it  only  right  to  encourage,  unwitting  that  she  had 
taken  the  first  step  to  develop  the  duckling. 

Millicent  declined  to  have  accomplishments;  she 
was  determined  to  have  an  art.  Her  mother,  after 
a  faint  struggle  to  maintain  the  hours  which  every 
nice  girl  should  devote  to  strumming  scales,  sur- 
rendered at  discretion,  reflecting  in  herself  upon 
the  awful  utterance  of  her  brother-in-law,  "  She 
might  have  wanted  to  be  an  actress."  Laying  that 
fear  to  heart,  she  bore  with  much;  she  endured 
patiently  the  strange  friends  —  of  both  sexes  — 
whom  Millicent  imported  from  time  to  time  into 
her  decorous  drawing-room,  and  thanked  heaven 
inwardly  that  her  daughter  showed  no  desire  to 
emulate  their  costumes.  The  life-class  was  some- 
thing of  a  shock  to  her  feelings,  but  Millicent 
explained  sternly  that  it  was  essential  to  an  artist's 
career.  What  on  earth  Millicent  should  want 
with  a  career,  Mrs.  Carteret  could  not  imagine, 
and  she  nearly  lost  her  patience  when  the  girl 
injured,  and  in  the  very  season,  her  complexion, 
and  a  very  pretty  complexion,  by  too  laborious 
work  for  the  Slade  School  studentship.  Millicent 
basely  made  her  profit  out  of  this  anxiety  to  secure 
her  mother's  consent  to  a  long-meditated  scheme, 


4  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

She  and  Kitty  Hammond  wanted  to  go  off  and 
live  in  lodgings  and  work  out-of-doors,  putting 
schools  and  professors  far  away,  and  throwing 
gloves  and  veils  to  the  winds.  Kitty  Hammond 
suggested  Cornwall,  but  Millicent  scorned  the  idea. 
Everybody  went  to  Cornwall;  there  were  easels  in 
the  foreground  of  every  view.  She  wanted  to  go 
somewhere  where  no  one  had  ever  read  a  book 
or  painted  a  picture.  She  wanted  to  go  to 
Donegal. 

Kitty  Hammond  meekly  submitted  that  nobody 
went  to  Donegal,  because  you  could  get  nothing 
to  eat  there,  and  all  the  beds  had  pigs  under  them. 
Millicent  retorted  contemptuously  that  you  caught 
trout  and  ate  them,  and  that  her  cousin  Jack 
Duncombe  had  stayed  in  a  delightful  cottage 
where  they  gave  you  potato  cake.  Kitty  said  that 
six  Englishmen  had  died  in  one  year  of  eating 
potato  cake,  and  that  there  was  nobody  to  catch 
trout.  Millicent  retorted  that  she  had  stayed  for 
a  fortnight  on  Windermere,  and  learnt  how  to 
throw  a  fly  perfectly;  she  had  caught  lots  of  trout 
in  the  beck.  Pressed  as  to  the  number,  she  was  a 
trifle  vague,  but  in  any  case  anybody  could  catch 
trout  on  Lough  Drummond  —  Jack  Duncombe  had 
told  her  so ;  and  you  went  in  and  had  them  cooked 
over  a  peat  fire,  and  ate  them  hot  and  frizzling 
from  the  frying-pan,  and  faintly  tasting  of  the 
peat.  Kitty  objected  the  horrors  of  the  journey; 


THE   OLD    KNOWLEDGE  5 

Millicent  retorted  with  a  paean  boldly  imaginative 
in  praise  of  the  Irish  outside  car.  Finally,  since 
there  was,  as  Kitty  reasonably  complained,  no  use 
in  talking,  the  matter  was  settled. 

Mrs.  Carteret  was  resignedly  reluctant.  She  had 
hoped,  she  said,  that  Millicent  would  settle  down 
and  enjoy  herself  and  go  to  parties.  Millicent, 
however,  insisted  that  her  health  imperatively  re- 
quired a  complete  change.  Late  hours  would  be 
the  ruin  of  her.  "  And,  at  all  events,  mamma,"  she 
added,  "  in  a  place  like  that,  you  know,  Kitty  and 
I  could  not  get  into  any  mischief."  Mrs.  Carteret 
gave  in.  Jack  Duncombe  was  employed  to  arrange 
about  the  rooms,  and  all  was  settled. 

Then,  two  days  before  the  date  fixed,  Kitty  Ham- 
mond got  the  measles.  It  is  not  a  romantic  com- 
plaint ;  it  provokes  no  commiseration,  and  Millicent 
did  not  take  the  trouble  to  pretend  that  she  was 
not  angry  with  Kitty.  And,  at  twenty-four  hours' 
notice,  nobody  else  would  go.  Half-heartedly  she 
asserted  that  she  really  would  go  by  herself;  and 
in  a  rash  moment  Mrs.  Carteret,  ruffling  her 
plumes,  declared  that  such  a  thing  was  wholly  out 
of  the  question.  Then  a  pitched  battle  began. 
The  affair  was  fought  out  as  a  matter  of  principle, 
Millicent,  severely  logical,  demanding  to  be  shown 
why  it  was  wrong  that  she  should  go.  She  was 
an  artist,  and  up  to  a  certain  point  she  must  defy 
convention.  And  she  cited  with  great  accuracy 


6  THE  OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

instance  after  instance  in  which  she  had  been  al- 
lowed to  do  so,  poor  Mrs.  Carteret  pleading  in 
vain  that  it  was  scarcely  fair  that  her  very  conces- 
sions should  now  be  used  against  her.  In  short, 
the  duckling  finally  and  irretrievably  expressed  her 
determination  to  be  a  duckling  —  a  perfectly  well- 
conducted  duckling,  but  still  a  duckling  that  makes 
no  pretence  of  chicken-like  behaviour.  And  the 
hen,  as  always,  found  herself  left  upon  the  shore. 
No  doubt,  if  Mrs.  Carteret  could  have  seen  her 
daughter  in  that  moment,  her  anxieties  would  have 
been  doubled.  But  if  she  could  have  looked  into 
her  daughter's  consciousness,  they  would  have  been 
indefinitely  multiplied,  for  Millicent  was  feeling 
not  a  little  lonely  and  embarrassed.  A  certain 
number  of  tourists  like  herself  had  come  with  her 
in  the  train,  but  they  had  taken  the  steamer  to 
Rathnew ;  her  little  boat  went  further  up  the  lough 
to  Rathdrum,  and  all  the  folk  on  it  were  people 
of  the  country,  conversing  to  one  another  in  a 
dialect  that  was  very  difficult  to  Millicent's  ear, 
and  entirely  unlike  the  traditional  brogue  of 
comic  songs.  And  the  grey  lough  and  the  grey 
hills  chilled  her;  there  was  a  possibility  of 
beauty,  no  doubt,  in  their  shape,  but  hardly  its 
presence.  Still,  as  the  little  boat  plunged  on  its 
way,  and  the  lough  parted  into  two  arms,  the 
place  began  to  grow  more  homely.  Now  the  arm 
of  the  sea  was  plainly  transformed  into  the  est- 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  7 

uary  of  a  river,  and  at  last,  as  they  rounded  a 
low  point  of  land  covered  with  scrub  oak  growing 
down  to  the  high-water  line  of  drift-wrack,  and 
opened  a  huddle  of  grey  houses,  set  among  trees 
and  reaching  up  along  the  river-bank.  Millicent 
felt  the  welcome  sense  of  arrival.  People  were 
friendly  and  helpful  with  her  luggage,  and  the  car- 
man's shaven  face  was  genial  and  friendly;  but  he 
showed  a  surprise  that  was  almost  incredulous  when 
Millicent  declared  her  destination  —  Miss  Coyle's, 
at  Killydonnell. 

"  Is  it  the  Killydonnell  hotel  you  want,  miss  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Millicent,  perplexed,  "  it  isn't  the 
hotel.  She's  a  woman  who  keeps  lodgings  for 
anglers." 

Then,  to  her  amazement,  she  found  her  affairs 
quite  familiar  to  the  bystanders  on  the  quay. 
Voices  chimed  in  — 

"  It's  Margaret  Coyle's,  on  Lough  Drummond. 
There  was  two  English  ladies  coming  to  her,  and 
this  lady  will  be  one  of  them.  Isn't  that  it,  miss  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Millicent,  "that's  it "  — divided 
between  amusement  and  consternation,  as  she  saw 
that  the  English  lady  coming  to  stay  at  Margaret's 
was  an  object  of  general  curiosity. 

There  was  enough  of  the  angler  in  her  to  rouse 
her  to  keen  interest  when  they  passed  the  river  at 
a  broad  bridge  just  above  the  tideway.  But  not 
so  much  the  angler  as  the  artist  was  stirred  when, 


8  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

a  little  further  on  the  drive,  the  road  took  them 
past  a  long  stretch  of  still,  silvery  water  brimming 
to  a  carry,  over  which  the  tumbling  flood  raced  in 
a  curving  waterfall.  Whether  for  artist  or  angler, 
the  river  was  the  feature  of  the  drive,  in  its  loops 
through  the  country.  A  mile  onwards  it  met 
them  again,  and  they  crossed  a  bridge  over  a  wild 
hurry  of  racing  streams,  where  Millicent  deter- 
mined that  her  fly  should  float  before  she  was 
many  hours  older.  Then  a  large,  level  sweep  of 
road  led  them  through  bogland,  over  which  pee- 
wits circled  and  called,  and  through  which  the 
river  ran  slow  and  deep  —  paintable,  thought  Mil- 
licent, but  cheerless,  a  study  in  sepia.  And  then 
the  lake  came  in  sight  —  a  grey  sheet  of  water,  flat 
and  dead,  for  the  breeze  had  fallen,  but  cheerless 
too  in  that  cold,  sunless  evening.  Millicent  shivered 
instinctively. 

Another  hundred  yards  and  the  driver  said, 
"  There's  Margaret's ; "  and  he  pointed  with  his 
whip  to  a  little  slated  cottage,  standing  fifty  yards 
back  from  the  road.  A  lane,  well  kept,  led  up  to 
it  between  two  trim  hedges,  and  the  face  of  the 
whitewashed  wall  in  front  was  trellised  with  a 
straggling  rose.  As  the  car  drew  up,  a  couple  of 
black-and-tan  collies  rushed  out,  barking  vocifer- 
ously, with  an  air  of  assumed  ferocity  that  would 
not  deceive  an  infant. 

A  lad  of  about  twenty  came  round  the  corner  of 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  9 

the  house  to  the  horse's  head,  and  a  short,  square- 
set,  middle-aged  woman,  with  a  quaint,  good- 
humoured  face,  emerged  from  the  low  door  of  the 
cottage. 

"Down,  Toby!  down,  Fly!"  she  said  to  the 
dogs.  "  Aren't  you  ashamed  ?  " 

Millicent  jumped  off  the  car.  "Are  you  Miss 
Coyle?  I'm  Miss  Carteret." 

"  You're  welcome,  miss.  That's  a  terrible  day 
you  had.  But  where's  the  other  young  lady?  " 

"  She  was  ill,  and  I  had  to  come  by  myself,"  said 
Millicent,  a  little  nervously. 

"  Dear  oh !  Isn't  that  too  bad,  now  ?  And  you 
had  to  come  all  that  way  your  lones,  and  such  a 
day,  too !  Won't  you  come  in,  miss  ?  You  must  be 
fair  tired  out  with  the  travelling." 

Millicent  followed  her  in  as  she  spoke.  The  door 
gave  into  the  kitchen.  A  steep  wooden  stair  fronted 
it,  and  the  room  was  dark  enough;  but  the  clay 
floor  was  spotlessly  clean,  and  on  the  hearth  a  bright 
peat  fire  was  blazing.  At  the  sight  of  the  blaze,  with 
the  big  black  pot  hanging  over  it,  and  the  white 
wooden  chair  set  invitingly  in  the  chimney  corner, 
Millicent  felt  as  if  the  universe  had  suddenly  grown 
warm  and  home-like. 

"  Come  forward  to  the  fire,  miss,  while  John 
helps  Hughie  to  bring  in  your  box,"  she  said. 
"  Bring  it  inside,  John,"  she  said  to  a  tall,  well- 
set-up  lad  who  rose  from  a  dark  corner  of  the 


io  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

kitchen.  "  Well,  well,"  she  went  on  as  she  bustled 
about,  "it's  too  bad  that  the  other  young  lady 
wasn't  able  to  come  with  you.  I  had  the  two  beds 
ready  and  alL  But  it's  a  very  rough  place  for  the 
likes  of  you,  miss.  I  wouldn't  have  evened  it  to 
myself  to  be  doing  for  you,  but  Captain  Duncombe, 
he  said  you  would  be  willing  to  make  the  best  of  us, 
and  sure  I  couldn't  refuse  when  Captain  Duncombe 
asked  it." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Coyle,"  said  Millicent,  "  I  think  it's 
all  so  nice ;  and  I  won't  be  any  trouble  to  you  —  I 
won't  indeed ! " 

"Indeed,  then,  miss,  I'm  sure  you  won't; 
but  if  you  were  itself  it'd  be  little  enough  to  do 
for  you.  Will  you  come  in  and  see  your  room 
now?" 

Millicent  went  out  and  paid  her  driver,  and 
then  inspected  her  quarters  —  a  little  sitting-room 
with  a  big  window  to  the  front,  a  little  box  of  a 
bedroom,  with  its  tiny  casement  opening  on  to 
the  yard.  It  was  all  clean  and  cosy,  though  the 
horse-hair-padded  chairs  and  the  shiny  tablecloth  of 
American  leather  had  not  the  charm  of  the  kitchen ; 
but  it  had  the  same  air  of  kindly  preparation. 
And  before  Millicent  had  fairly  shaken  the  dust 
of  the  journey  off  her,  Margaret  assisting  —  for 
Margaret  insisted  that  Miss  Coyle  should  be  no 
longer  mentioned  —  and  marvelling  ingenuously  at 
all  the  little  daintinesses  contained  in  a  dressing- 


THE  OLD  KNOWLEDGE  11 

bag  —  the  feeling  of  strangeness  had  entirely  worn 
off. 

There  was  nothing  but  content  in  her  mind 
when  she  settled  down  to  her  dinner,  except, 
indeed,  a  little  surprise  that  Margaret  should 
ask  if  one  chicken  would  be  enough  for  her; 
but  the  surprise  vanished  when  she  saw  the 
tender  innocent,  not  much  bigger  than  a  well- 
sized  woodcock,  and  almost  as  good  to  eat.  And 
though  she  dined  alone  she  was  not  solitary,  for 
Margaret  bustled  in  and  out  with  "  second  "  pota- 
toes (peeled  and  crisped  on  the  hearth,  for  a 
change,  after  the  first  in  their  jackets),  a  glass 
of  new  milk,  and  whatever  else  her  invention 
could  think  of  that  was  appetizing.  And  with 
Margaret  there  came  companionable  cats;  and, 
when  her  back  was  turned,  one  of  the  collies, 
aggressive  no  longer,  but  amiably  surreptitious, 
entered  soft-footed,  and  unostentatiously  pressed 
a  warm  nose  on  Millicent's  knee,  while  his  fine 
eyes  looked  with  a  gentle  suggestion  towards  her 
plate.  Margaret  detected  him,  and  was  indignant 
"Toby!  the  whup!"  she  threatened.  But  Toby 
disregarded  her,  and  pressed  his  nose  a  little 
closer,  while  Millicent  shamefully  encouraged  his 
rebellion. 

And  after  dinner,  when  she  went  into  the  kitchen 
to  ask  Margaret  for  some  trifle,  it  seemed  to  her 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to  find  herself 


12  THE  OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

offered  the  seat  of  honour  by  the  fire,  and  taking 
her  place  in  the  circle  with  Margaret  and  the  two 
lads  and  a  neighbour  who  had  dropped  in.  It 
seemed  natural,  she  found  herself  reflecting,  for 
she  herself  was  the  only  person  there  in  the  least 
embarrassed.  There  was  no  constraint  accompa- 
nying the  perfect  deference  with  which  these 
peasants  treated  their  guest;  and  if  Millicent  was 
a  new  thing  in  their  experience,  so  were  they  in 
hers.  In  ten  minutes  she  was  talking  quite  easily 
about  the  Rathdrum  steamer;  and  when  Margaret 
praised  her  courage  —  "  Ye  must  be  a  brave  lady, 
then "  —  she  was  a  little  at  cross  purposes  till 
Hughie  explained  that  Margaret's  special  terror 
was  the  sea.  Living  all  her  life  with  boatmen,  she 
had  only  once  ventured  on  the  water,  and  the 
experience  was  dreadful.  And  Millicent  had 
crossed  the  sea  before,  and  had  been  in  "  foreign 
parts." 

"  Dear  oh !  and  you  that  young ! "  said  Mar- 
garet. 

"  Had  any  artists  been  there  ?  "  Millicent  wanted 
to  know. 

Margaret  had  never  heard  tell  of  such  a  thing. 
The  quality  did  be  dabbling  with  a  wee  cup  of 
water,  and  painting  pictures  of  the  lake  and  the 
island,  but,  for  a  person  who  made  a  business  of 
it,  she  never  saw  one.  And  was  that  what  Miss 
Carteret  was  going  to  do  ?  Dear  oh !  It  must  take 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  13 

a  person  to  be  quare  and  clever  to  earn  money  at 
the  like  o'  thon. 

"  Would  there  be  any  difficulty  in  getting 
models  ? "  Millicent  asked.  But  she  had  to  ex- 
plain, "  Girls  or  children  that  would  stand  to  be 
painted." 

An  odd  touch  of  confusion  came  over  the  group. 
"  There's  some  of  them  doesn't  think  it  lucky,"  said 
Hughie. 

"  Oh,  nonsense ! "  said  Margaret,  rather  angrily. 
"  Sure  what  harm  would  it  do  them  ?  There's  many 
a  one  has  their  photograph  taken." 

"There's  them  that  won't,  then, "retorted  Hughie. 
"  Isn't  that  the  truth,  James  ?  "  he  said,  turning  to 
the  old  man  who  sat  very  still  and  silent  on  the 
settle  in  the  shadow  close  to  the  door. 

"Why  do  they  think  it  unlucky?"  asked  Millicent. 

But  Margaret  cut  the  conversation  short.  "  It's 
just  a  pack  of  nonsense  they  have  among  them- 
selves, miss.  Sure  no  good  Christian  would  believe 
the  like.  Don't  be  afraid;  if  you  want  to  paint 
likenesses  of  them,  I'll  get  you  as  many  childher  as 
you  want." 

"Thank  you,  Margaret,"  said  Millicent;  but 
she  determined  to  have  the  question  out  with 
Hughie,  little  knowing  the  reticence  of  an  Irish 
peasant.  "  Still,"  she  went  on,  "  I  don't  want  to 
paint  just  yet.  I  want  to  fish.  Is  there  any 
chance  ?  " 


i4  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

All  she  heard  was  most  encouraging.  There  had 
been  plenty  of  trout  caught ;  the  water  was  "  about 
the  right  grist;"  and  if  there  was  a  breeze  in  the 
morning,  she  could  try  the  lake;  and,  anyhow,  the 
streams  or  the  river  could  be  fished  in  nearly  any 
weather.  Then  there  was  an  inspection  of  her 
tackle.  Admiration  was  lavished  on  her  beautiful 
little  split-cane  rod  —  for  Millicent's  friends  had 
supervised  her  purchases  —  and  the  flies  chosen  for 
her  by  Jack  Duncombe  stood  Hughie's  criticism. 
And  when  Millicent  left  the  corner  of  the  peat  fire 
and  withdrew  into  her  own  domain,  there  was  not 
a  young  lady  in  Ireland  better  pleased  with  herself 
that  evening. 

The  duckling  took  kindly  to  the  water. 


CHAPTER  II 

ABOUT  twenty  yards  from  the  river  the  stone 
wall  that  divides  Strathmore  from  the  long  plant- 
ing becomes  a  bank,  mightily  tunnelled  with 
rabbit-holes  and  covered  with  large  thorn  bushes. 
From  between  two  of  these  bushes,  where  gene- 
rations of  anglers  had  worn  a  gap,  more  or  less 
practicable,  there  emerged  the  point  of  a  trout-rod, 
and  following  with  the  rest  of  the  rod  came  Miss 
Millicent  Carteret.  She  struggled  for  a  moment 
or  two  on  the  top  of  the  bank  in  the  endeavour 
to  disentangle  her  fishing-basket,  which  had  seized 
a  last  opportunity  to  stick  in  the  bushes;  then 
she  slipped  down  into  the  field  and  stood  up, 
more  than  a  little  ruffled  in  temper  and  person. 
There  are  few  things  more  trying,  even  to  the 
experienced,  than  to  penetrate  an  unfamiliar  wood, 
rod  in  hand.  Millicent  was  not  experienced,  and 
the  long  planting  was  provided  with  a  tropical 
undergrowth  of  brambles  and  scrub  holly.  Her 
efforts  to  fish  at  one  or  two  points  in  the  passage 
along  the  bank  had  cost  her  her  most  cherished 
15 


1 6  THE  OLD  KNOWLEDGE 

casting-line,  half  of  which  hung  suspended  from  a 
poplar  branch  at  a  height  some  six  inches  beyond 
what  was  accessible  even  to  a  lady  standing  five 
feet  eight;  and  she  had  then  wisely,  though  in  no 
philosophic  temper,  decided  to  make  her  way  to 
clearer  ground. 

What  she  saw  now  went  a  good  way  to  console 
and  compose  her.  She  saw  a  huge  level  pasture, 
so  large  that  you  would  walk  a  mile  if  you  followed 
its  boundary;  and  for  two-thirds  of  the  way  that 
boundary  was  the  river.  Strathmore  is  in  shape  a 
circle  that  inclines  to  be  a  triangle,  or  a  triangle 
that  inclines  to  be  a  circle,  as  you  will;  and  in  all 
the  hilly,  undulating  country  that  lies  in  among 
the  mountains  of  Donegal  there  is  scarcely  its 
fellow.  Millicent,  however,  did  not  care  for  the 
quality  of  the  pasture;  she  scarcely  noticed  the 
massive  beauty  of  the  great  herd  of  shorthorns, 
flecked  red  and  white,  that  grazed  in  it;  she  was 
even  too  keen  upon  her  sport  to  dwell  upon  the 
pleasure  afforded  to  the  eye  by  that  great  level 
expanse  of  grass,  green  overlaid  with  fawn  colour, 
which  spread  itself  out  among  the  ups  and  downs 
of  a  tillage  country  all  criss-crossed  with  walls  and 
ditches.  What  she  saw  and  rejoiced  in  was  the 
absence  of  trees. 

From  the  bridge,  a  mile  up  stream,  where  she 
had  left  her  bicycle  in  a  cottage,  her  industry  had 
been  engaged  in  a  continual  conflict  with  branches. 


THE    OLD    KNOWLEDGE  17 

It  had  pleased  either  nature  or  man  to  set  the 
bank  on  both  sides  at  intervals  of  some  twenty  or 
thirty  yards  with  small  ash  trees,  and  between 
them  the  rippling  broken  stream  of  the  river  ran 
like  a  boulevard.  Nothing  could  be  prettier, 
nothing  more  embarrassing  to  the  angler,  and 
especially  to  a  novice  who  liked  elbow-room  to 
swing  her  flies  in.  But  here  at  last,  in  Strathmore, 
the  river  ran  from  her  south-west,  and  then  turned 
sharp  south-east  to  meet  a  line  of  poplars  that  shot 
off  at  angles  from  the  plantation  she  had  traversed. 
At  the  angle  of  the  bend  was  a  clump  of  trees 
over  which  cawing  rooks  soared  and  circled,  but, 
save  for  that,  in  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of 
the  field,  nothing  broke  the  level  except  a  strange, 
tall,  upright  stone,  and  one  more  little  ash  on  the 
bank,  perhaps  three  hundred  yards  from  where  she 
was  standing.  That,  at  least,  she  felt  was  no  en- 
cumbrance —  little  knowing. 

As  she  looked  about  her,  the  traces  of  vexation 
about  her  eyes  and  mouth  smoothed  themselves 
away.  With  a  decisive  movement  she  restored 
order  to  the  short  blue  serge  bicycling  skirt,  preened 
herself  with  a  bird's  quick  touch,  and  then  set  to 
work  to  repair  the  wreckage  of  her  tackle.  Pull- 
ing round  the  neat  little  basket  that  was  slung  on 
her  shoulder,  she  opened  it  to  take  out  her  fly- 
book,  and  the  sight  of  its  other  contents  wholly 
restored  her  equanimity;  for  there  were  trout  in 
c 


18  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

it,  as  many  trout  as  Millicent  had  caught  in  her 
whole  experience  of  angling  before  —  three  or  four 
brace  of  them.  The  soft,  grey,  windless  day  had 
made  lake-fishing  impossible,  but  Hughie  had 
been  right  when  he  assured  her  that  with  the  river 
still  high  after  the  flood  she  would  get  plenty  of 
trout  in  the  streams  down  by  Tully  Bridge.  Still, 
she  was  a  little  depressed  about  the  loss  of  her 
cast.  It  had  always  been  impressed  upon  her  that 
she  ought  to  fish  fine,  and  there  was  her  beautiful 
drawn  gut,  with  its  little  midge-sized  flies,  decorat- 
ing a  poplar  tree.  However,  there  was  a  cast 
which  Hughie  had  put  up  for  her  over-night, 
about  the  strength,  he  said,  for  the  lake,  with  the 
flies  he  fancied  —  a  small  claret,  a  small  hare's  ear, 
and  on  the  tail  a  blue  and  silver.  Her  white 
capable  fingers^  round  and  shapely,  with  joints 
smoothly  finished  like  the  knots  on  a  slender 
bamboo,  went  to  work  unbending  what  was 
broken,  afid  quickly  unwinding  and  bending  on 
the  new  gut;  and  in  a  minute  she  was  equipped. 
Then  she  stood  up,  light,  quick,  erect,  yet  pliant, 
as  if  hef  figure  continually  sprang  against  the 
weight  of  her  hair,  and  eagerly  she  made  her  way 
to  the  sport. 

And  if  ever  there  was  a  stretch  of  fishing-water 
such  as  anglers,  immured  in  the  sweltering  city, 
picture  to  themselves  when  they  toss  through 
July  nights,  she  had  it  now  before  her.  Down 


THE    OLD    KNOWLEDGE  19 

along  the  way  she  had  come  the  river  ran 
straight,  broad  and  fordable,  broken  into  many 
channels.  But  just  by  the  fence  she  had  crossed, 
Strathmore  pushed  out  a  shoulder  and  barred  the 
way  of  the  current,  that  narrowed  up  till  you 
could  throw  a  fly  easily  across  it,  and  then  swung 
found  in  a  sullen  whirling  pool,  flinging  the 
weight  of  water  to  the  further  side.  Here  the 
ground  rose  sharply  in  a  knoll,  divided  from 
Strathmore  by  a  curving  arc  of  river,  and  towards 
the  stream  it  offered  a  cliffy  side,  covered  with 
dense  scrub  of  oak  and  hazel  bushes  that  hung 
over  the  water,  dropping  from  their  tufted  boughs 
a  fain  of  insects.  Under  the  boughs  the  river, 
emerging  from  the  turning  pool  in  a  wild,  broken, 
hurrying  rush,  sped  on  down  and  down,  smooth- 
ing and  slackening  gradually,  yet  still  swift  and 
curled  where  it  raced  past  the  drooping  hazels. 
Millicent's  experience  was  sufficient  to  tell  her  that 
if  trout  could  be  caught  anywhere,  they  should  be 
caught  there. 

She  took  her  stand  on  the  level  bank  of  Strath- 
more, cast  into  the  stream,  and  the  lissom  loops 
of  the  gut  straightened  out  rapidly  in  the  strong 
Water.  Another  cast,  and  another,  while  she 
lengthened  her  line;  then,  as  the  flies  swept 
down,  just  on  the  edge  of  the  central  rush,  there 
was  a  splash,  her  line  tightened,  and  the  rod's 
point  bent  sharply,  with  the  strength  of  the 


20  THE    OLD    KNOWLEDGE 

stream  added  to  the  fighting  fish.  But  the  little 
split  cane  did  its  work,  and  drew  the  trout  across 
towards  the  stiller  water.  Millicent  played  him 
delicately  and  gingerly,  enticing  him  towards  a 
bank  of  shelving  sand  —  for  Millicent,  rash  young 
woman,  had  refused  to  be  hampered  with  a  land- 
ing-net, and  half  a  dozen  times  already  that  day 
she  had  repented  bitterly.  But  fate  was  kinder 
to  her  now,  and  the  pretty,  lustrous,  brown  fish, 
carmine-spotted,  soon  lay  gasping  on  the  grass. 
And  as  she  fished  down  the  curve  of  stream,  with 
the  dark  bank  opposite  her,  luck  was  constant, 
and  another  brace  were  added  to  the  basket. 
The  day  held  good;  though  the  veil  of  soft  grey 
showed  signs  of  parting,  and  even  through  it 
you  could  feel  the  strength  of  an  August  sun, 
it  was  still  dark  enough,  and  not  too  dark,  for 
the  flies. 

But  the  river  was  now  changing  in  its  character. 
From  being  a  swift,  swirling  run,  it  passed  into 
a  short  pool,  though  still  broken  by  the  rush  of 
the  water.  The  bank  on  the  further  side  was 
curving  round,  and  on  Millicent's  left  it  came  out 
so  far  that  the  dammed-up  flood  gathered  into 
a  heap  and  rushed  out  in  a  stream  so  heavy  that 
for  a  yard  or  two  its  surface  was  smooth  as  glass. 
And  in  this  pool  she  became  aware  that  the  natural 
resting-place  for  fish  must  be  on  the  farther  side, 
since  nearer  her  was  a  slope  of  shingle.  She  cast 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  21 

heroically  towards  an  overhanging  tree,  con- 
scious of  the  fate  in  store  if  her  flies  fouled  its 
branches;  and  her  skill  was  rewarded.  There 
was  a  swirl,  and  she  found  herself  fighting  a 
fish  that  ran  valiantly.  He  jumped,  and  her 
heart  was  in  her  mouth  when  she  saw  he  was  at 
least  twice  as  big  as  any  of  those  she  had  landed. 
But  still  the  little  rod  controlled  him  easily,  the 
rushes  grew  fainter,  and  at  last  she  drew  him  in 
to  her  feet.  The  neat  little  basket  was  becoming  a 
perceptible  weight. 

What  had  been  done  once  could  be  done  again. 
The  overhanging  tree  covered  several  yards  of 
deep  water,  and  below  it  still  a  branching  thorn 
projected  over  the  very  tail  of  the  pool.  Plainly 
that  was  where  glory  lay.  She  straightened  her 
line  with  a  cast  or  two,  let  out  another  yard,  and 
threw  to  reach  the  water  just  above  the  trailing 
boughs.  Horror!  her  fly  fell  fairly  among  them. 
A  quick  jerk  and  she  was  clear  —  she  had  only 
touched  a  leaf.  Should  she  risk  it  again?  She 
decided  that  she  would. 

In  just  below  the  hazel  was  a  vacant  space 
before  the  thorn  covered  the  water,  and  for  that 
she  made  her  cast.  The  tail-fly  travelled  straight, 
fell  softly  as  a  benediction  on  the  water,  and  was 
swept  ,by  the  stream  into  the  dark  water  under 
the  thorn.  Suddenly  a  great  wave  surged  up 
from  the  depths  and  overwhelmed  it.  There 


22  THE  OLD  KNOWLEDGE 

was  no  tug,  but  a  heavy  pull  on  the  line,  which 
moved  quietly  out  towards  the  middle  of  the  pool. 
Something  had  happened. 

Millicent  was  cold  with  excitement.  She  lifted 
the  top  of  the  rod  almost  automatically,  expecting 
the  fish  either  to  come  towards  her  or  fight 
against  the  strain.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  The  rod 
bent  double,  but  the  line  remained  motionless  as  if 
the  hook  were  fixed  in  a  rock.  Only,  she  was  con- 
scious of  a  heavy  motion,  and  the  reel  began  to  pay 
out  slowly  as  the  thing  —  whatever  it  was  —  sailed 
a  few  feet  away  from  her  up  the  stream. 


CHAPTER  III 

"  How  much  line  have  you  got  ?  " 

The  words  fell  upon  her  suddenly,  and  she 
turned  her  head  with  a  start.  A  young  man  was 
standing  beside  her  with  a  rod  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Oh ! "  she  said  with  a  start.  Then  she  spoke 
the  hope  which  would  have  been  suggested  to  her 
by  the  angel  Gabriel  if  he  had  appeared.  "  Have 
you  got  a  landing-net?  I  don't  know  how  I  shall 
ever  get  this  fish  in  without  one." 

He  laughed  quietly.  "  I've  got  what  will  do 
better.  But  you  won't  want  it  just  yet.  That's  a 
heavy  fish." 

"  I  didn't  know  there  were  such  big  trout  in  this 
river,"  she  said. 

As  she  spoke,  suddenly  the  rod  bent  like  a  whip ; 
the  reel  screamed,  and  with  a  majestic  rush  the  fish 
went  down  the  flood  of  water  at  the  tail  of  the 
pool,  then,  piercing  the  stream,  shot  into  the  slack 
water  on  the  further  side,  and  flung  himself  into 
the  air  with  a  mighty  leap. 

"Oh!"  she  screamed,  "why,  that's  a  salmon!" 

But  admonitions  were  being  hurled  at  her, 
23 


24  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"Drop  your  point  when  he  jumps.  There  — 
well  done !  He's  on  still." 

The  fish  was  now  slowly  circling  in  the  lower 
pool,  and  showing  a  disposition  to  burrow  under 
the  bank.  Millicent's  heart  was  in  a  wild  flurry. 

"  Oh,  do  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do,"  she  said, 
completely  forgetful  of  her  dignity.  "  Won't  the 
rod  break?" 

"  Not  likely,"  the  stranger  said.  "  Hold  it  strong 
against  him.  Keep  the  butt  up  —  so.  That's  it." 

"  It  was  a  salmon,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said,  laughing.     "Why  not?" 

"  But  I've  never  caught  a  salmon." 

"  Well,  you've  a  chance  to  begin.  And,  what's 
more,  that's  a  salmon,  not  a  grilse." 

"  Oh,"  she  said  vaguely.  "  I  didn't  know.  But 
what  will  happen?  How  long  will  this  sort  of 
thing  go  on  ?  Oh !  " 

She  gave  an  involuntary  shriek  as  the  fish  made 
a  short  rush  down  the  pool. 

"  Run,"  he  said.  "  Follow  him.  Keep  as  close 
as  you  can.  There  —  that's  right.  Keep  the  point 
of  your  rod  well  up.  That's  it.  Don't  be  afraid 
of  it."  And,  indeed,  the  little  rod  was  bent 
alarmingly.  "You  must  hold  the  butt  against 
him  when  he  runs,"  her  instructor  went  on.  "  It's 
little  you  can  do  with  it;  but  still  it  is  keeping 
a  strain  on  him.  Let  me  look  at  your  reel.  How 
much  line  ?  " 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  25 

"  Haven't  an  idea,"  she  answered.  "  Does  it 
matter  ?  " 

He  looked  again.  "  Twenty  yards,  most  likely ; 
perhaps  twenty-five.  If  he  stays  here,  it  won't  mat- 
ter, but  if  he  goes  down  —  " 

The  pool  the  fish  was  in  now  was  a  deep,  nar- 
row water  between  steepish  banks.  Into  it  the 
stream  tore  with  a  heavy  race,  but  gradually  spread 
out,  and  the  whole  ran  broadening  for  perhaps  a 
hundred  yards.  No  better  place  to  fight  a  salmon 
in  could  be,  but  for  one  fatal  circumstance.  Fifty 
yards  down  stream  was  the  one  ash  tree;  and 
about  its  feet  grew  two  or  three  thick  willow 
bushes.  The  ash  boughs  spread  thick  and  low, 
and  the  tree  grew  from  the  bank  itself.  To  pass 
it  was  impossible. 

Millicent  looked,  not  comprehending.  "  Well," 
she  said,  "  if  he  goes  down,  can't  I  go  down 
too?" 

"  If  it  wasn't  for  that  beastly  tree  you  could. 
I've  always  said  I'd  come  some  morning  and  cut  it 
down.  Still,  there  it  is." 

She  looked  at  it  blankly.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say 
he  is  going  all  that  way  ?  " 

"  How  are  you  going  to  stop  him  ?  O  Lord ! 
this  is  worse.  If  he  gets  in  there  he's  lost,  to  a 
moral." 

On  the  bank  where  they  stood  grew  a  bush  of 
stunted  alder,  with  its  tangled  roots  in  the  water, 


26  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

and  for  this  the  salmon  was  now  heading,  quietly 
but  firmly. 

"  Hold  him  if  you  can.  He  must  be  kept  out  of 
that." 

Millicent's  helper  darted  to  the  gravel  bank  off 
which  she  had  hooked  the  salmon,  and  returned 
with  a  handful  of  stones.  The  salmon  was  still 
relentlessly  boring  up  stream.  He  was  within  a 
yard  now  of  the  overhanging  branches. 

"  Look  out ! "  Millicent  heard,  and  a  stone 
dropped  into  the  water  right  before  the  fish's 
nose.  What  happened  next  she  never  quite 
knew.  She  saw  the  thin  line  cutting  the  water  like 
a  steamer's  prow,  down,  down,  always  down  tow- 
ards the  ash  tree;  she  heard  herself  urged  to  run, 
and  she  ran,  panting,  while  the  reel  still  shrieked 
and  the  rod  bent,  and  the  line  fled  further  and 
further  away.  It  cut  the  water  past  the  outermost 
branches  of  the  ash,  still  heading  down,  and  she 
heard  some  one  say,  "  Give  me  the  rod." 
Whether  she  gave  it  or  whether  it  was  taken 
from  her  she  knew  not,  but  she  had  a  vision  of 
a  man  in  knickerbockers  floundering  down  the 
bank,  floundering  along  in  water  knee-deep,  waist- 
deep,  shoulder-deep,  with  rod  held  high,  and  at 
the  same  time  there  flashed  into  her  mind  a 
ludicrous  sense  of  her  position.  Vaguely  she  was 
aware  that  he  was  young,  and  had  dark  hair  and 
dark  eyes;  but  there  was  no  time  to  think,  for  he 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  27 

was  past  the  tree,  staggering  towards  the  bank, 
and  shouting  to  her  to  take  the  rod.  Then  she 
had  the  rod  in  her  hands  again,  and  the  fish,  ending 
his  race  with  a  desperate  flounder  on  the  top  of  the 
water,  was  still  on. 

"  Reel  in !  "  her  helper  shouted.  "  Get  over 
him ! " 

And  she  reeled  as  if  for  dear  life,  making  her 
way  nearer  to  where  the  line  moved  sullenly  back 
and  forwards.  She  heard  a  splash  and  a  struggle 
as  her  helper  pulled  himself  on  to  the  bank;  she 
heard  his  feet  as  he  came  running,  and  she  turned 
her  head  for  an  instant. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  be  frightfully  wet." 

"  What  matter  ?  That's  a  great  little  rod.  Stick 
to  him.  You  should  get  him  now.  These  big  runs 
tire  them  quick." 

"  Do  you  really  think  I  shall  ?  "  panted  Millicent. 
"  If  I  don't,  I  believe  it  will  break  my  heart." 

"  Of  course  you  will,"  he  said.  "  I'll  get  the  gaff 
ready." 

And  he  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  something  like  a 
telescope,  drew  it  out,  and  showed  at  the  end  a 
shining  hook. 

"  There !  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  —  as  the  fish  ran 
across  the  pool  slowly,  and  for  an  instant  turned 
on  his  side.  "  He's  showing  the  white.  Bring 
him  over,  if  you  can.  Gently!  oh,  gently!"  —  for 
the  salmon,  resisting  the  strain,  came  to  the  top 


28  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

and  floundered  in  a  flurry  on  the  top  of  the  water. 
"Is  he  off?  Thank  the  Lord!  Take  him  very 
quietly.  Easy,  easy !  Let  him  come  in  towards  the 
bank." 

He  kept  far  back  in  the  field  as  he  was  speaking ; 
then,  as  the  salmon  came  across,  he  slipped  down 
on  a  kind  of  ledge.  Supporting  himself  by  one 
hand  on  the  top,  he  warily  stole  up  behind  the  spent 
fish,  who  swam  sullenly  a  foot  below  the  water. 
Then  his  left  arm  shot  out  with  the  gaff,  shortened 
with  a  quick  snap,  and  Millicent,  feeling  the  weight 
on  a  sudden  off  her  line,  for  one  awful  instant  be- 
lieved that  the  fish  was  gone. 

But  there  it  hung  high  in  air  for  a  moment  before 
it  was  swung  clear  on  to  the  bank  and  thrown 
down,  bright  silver,  on  the  dull  grass. 

"  There,"  he  said,  dragging  himself  up,  "  let  me 
present  you  to  your  first  salmon." 

But  the  strong  fish,  feeling  the  resistance  of  the 
ground,  began  to  leap  and  struggle  for  liberty. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said.  "  You'd  better  look 
the  other  way." 

Millicent  heard  three  or  four  dull  blows. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  bringing  the  beautiful  purple- 
and  silver  creature,  fleckless,  except  for  the  little 
trace  left  by  the  gaff  in  its  shoulder,  "  I  congratu- 
late you." 


CHAPTER   IV 

BUT  Millicent  was  speechless.  She  laid  down  her 
rod,  sat  down  on  the  grass  and  contemplated  her 
spoil,  while  the  young  man  contemplated  her. 
Flushed  with  excitement,  and  utterly  oblivious  of 
anything  else,  she  was  undoubtedly  very  pleasant 
to  look  at,  and,  he  thought,  curiously  girlish.  How 
on  earth  did  she  get  there  ?  Who  on  earth  was  she  ? 
he  asked  himself. 

"  It's  a  great  moment,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  said  sympa- 
thetically. "  You'll  never  forget  it." 

"  I  should  rather  think  not,"  said  Millicent,  with 
heartfelt  conviction. 

"  There's  nothing  like  it  in  life.  And,  let  me 
tell  you,  you  have  a  right  to  be  proud.  That  fish 
must  be  ten  pounds.  It  isn't  one  fisherman  in  forty 
that  has  killed  a  ten-pound  fish  on  tackle  like  that. 
If  I  were  you,  I'd  put  that  fly  and  cast  in  a  locket, 
and  wear  it  next  my  heart." 

She  was  not  so  girlish-looking,  after  all,  he  was 
reflecting;  there  was  a  range  and  a  variety  of  ex- 
pression, a  controlled  humour  in  her  face,  that 
29 


3o  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

certainly  did  not  suggest  the  young  girl.  For  the 
truth  was  that,  while  he  talked,  Millicent  had  be- 
come alive  to  the  situation.  She  was  shy,  she  was 
nervous,  but  her  excitement  and  her  success  stimu- 
lated her;  and  if  she  was  embarrassed,  she  was 
also  amused.  And  not  for  the  world  was  she 
going  to  let  it  appear  that  she  was  embarrassed,  or 
that  it  was  not  the  most  ordinary  thing  in  her 
experience  to  be  receiving  the  congratulations  of 
an  unknown  man,  and  of  a  good-looking  young 
man,  and  of  a  young  man  who  apparently  was 
eager  to  analyze  his  emotions  —  and  hers ;  a  young 
man  whom  she  might  quite  conceivably  have  met 
in  quite  a  different  incarnation,  and  whom  she 
might,  in  that  incarnation,  quite  conceivably  have 
liked.  Now  she  had  to  make  her  acknowledgments, 
to  be  grateful  and  not  too  grateful,  and  to  get 
clear  away  so  as  to  avoid  possible  complications. 
It  was  difficult,  but  she  did  not  feel  unequal  to  it; 
it  amused  her  a  good  deal. 

"  I  don't  think  I'm  so  proud  as  I  should  be  if  I 
had  done  it  all  myself,"  she  said. 

"  Why,  everybody  has  a  gillie  to  gaff  their  fish," 
he  answered.  "  I  turned  up  just  in  time  to  act  as 
your  gillie,  that's  all." 

"  It  was  simply  angelic  of  you." 

"  As  to  being  angelic,"  he  replied,  "  I  was  just 
thinking  that  you  must  exercise  a  very  elevating 
influence  —  you  must  radiate  unselfishness.  This 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  31 

is  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  a  fellow-creature  catch  a 
salmon  without  wishing  I  had  caught  it  instead." 

"  Dear  me !  "  she  said.  "  Isn't  that  very  un- 
christian? I  should  like  to  see  you  catch  a  salmon 
now." 

He  looked  up  at  the  sky.  The  struggle  with  the 
fish  had  lasted  the  best  part  of  half  an  hour;  and  in 
that  time  the  cloud-veil  had  dispersed,  and  the  sun 
was  now  broad  and  blazing. 

"  Well,  you  won't  —  it's  too  bright ;  the  chance 
is  gone.  Besides,  you  don't  know  till  you  try.  I 
believe  in  my  heart  you  would  be  jealous.  Now, 
I  testify  before  all  the  gods  that  I  am  glad  it  was 
you  who  got  that  fish." 

"  That  is  only  because  I  couldn't  have  got  it 
without  you  to  help,"  she  replied,  with  a  challenge 
of  laughter  in  her  eyes. 

He  laughed  back.  "  Perhaps  you  are  right.  But 
I  would  not  encourage  you  to  think  so.  If  women 
don't  believe  in  their  elevating  influence,  what  are 
women  for  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  you  had  better  stay  discussing 
that  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  at  him  with  a  touch  of 
solicitude.  "  You're  wet." 

"  Yes ;  one  often  is  when  one  walks  in  a  river 
—  and  dirty.  The  contact  of  dripping  clothes  with 
crumbling  banks  produces  mud.  Do  you  mind  ?  It 
was  in  a  good  cause." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  good  cause  ever  saved  any 


32  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

one  from  influenza/'  she  said.  "  I  shall  feel  I  have 
your  death  on  me  if  you  stay  here  talking." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  you  don't  know  Donegal.  No- 
body here  values  a  wetting.  Besides,  I  don't  think 
you  can  dispense  with  your  gillie  yet." 

"  Oh,  thanks,"  she  said,  stiffening  perceptibly, 
"  I'm  sure  I  can."  Then,  in  a  less  austere  tone,  she 
added,  "  You  see,  if  you  aren't  able  to  catch  any 
salmon  after  this,  why  should  I  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  he  replied  philosophically.  "  I  have 
only  to  help  you  to  put  this  fish  into  your  basket, 
then  I  will  be  off." 

Again  Millicent's  composure  failed  her.  Here 
was  an  unlooked-for  complication. 

"  The  fish !  "  she  gasped.    "  It  won't  go  in." 

"  I  told  you  you  would  want  me,"  he  said. 
"Where  do  you  want  to  get  to?  I'll  carry  him 
along.  The  wet  doesn't  matter  in  the  least  when 
one  is  walking." 

"  Oh,  but  I  simply  can't  allow  you.  You've 
been  awfully  good,"  said  Millicent,  looking  round 
in  dismay.  How  on  earth  was  she  to  get  rid  of 
this  apparently  indispensable  creature?  Then  a 
ray  of  triumph  lit  her  face;  it  was  unconcealed 
when  she  turned  to  him.  "  No,  of  course  you 
need  not  —  there's  a  man  coming.  I'll  get  him  to 
do  it." 

Her  acquaintance  turned  and  looked  round. 
He  looked  back  at  her,  and  a  smile  was  dancing 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  33 

in  his  eyes,  and  drew  his  lips  a  little  apart.  Plainly 
there  was  something  else  in  store,  and  Millicent 
felt  bewildered,  and  a  little  angry. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  that  you  have  been 
breaking  the  law,  and  that  this  is  its  avenging 
minister?  " 

Into  what  Bedlam  comedy  had  she  walked?  In 
spite  of  herself,  she  felt  his  amusement  communi- 
cate itself. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  said.  "  I'm 
not  trespassing,  am  I  ?  " 

"  Have  you  a  salmon  license  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not.    What's  that  ?  " 

"  Then  you'd  better  leave  me  to  deal  with  this 
gentleman,"  he  answered,  without  vouchsafing 
further  explanation. 

The  individual  they  were  talking  of  was  a  long 
man  with  red  whiskers,  nondescript  clothes,  and  a 
shambling  gait.  He  came  up,  and  halted,  wearing 
the  curiously  indirect  manner  of  Irish  peasants  who 
have  something  to  say  and  do  not  feel  equal  to 
saying  it. 

"  Fine  day,"  said  Millicent's  helper. 

"  It  is  that."  Then  came  a  pause.  "  It's  a  wee 
thing  bright  now  for  fishing." 

"  Ay,  John,  the  best  of  the  day's  over." 

John  looked  with  an  inquiring  air  at  the  stranger, 
who  gave  him  his  name,  but  made  no  explicit 
acknowledgment. 


34  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  Thon's  a  good  fish  ye  got." 

"  It  is,  John.    What  weight  would  ye  give  him  ?  " 

John  hesitated.    "  Mebbe  aught  pounds." 

"  Nonsense,  John ;  he's  nearer  ten,  I  should 
think." 

"  They  aye  weigh  light  when  they  come  to  the 
scales,"  said  John,  grimly.  Again  he  hesitated. 

Then  the  young  man  spoke  again,  after  watching 
him  with  amusement. 

"  Are  you  wanting  to  see  my  license,  John  ?  " 

John  was  evidently  relieved.  "  Oh,  sure  if  you 
have  one,  what's  the  use?  Still  an'  all,  maybe  it 
would  be  as  well." 

"  Isn't  it  a  queer  thing,  John,"  said  the  young 
man,  taking  a  paper  from  his  fly-book,  "  that  you 
wouldn't  know  how  to  ask  a  man  for  his  license 
yet?  What  used  the  watchers  to  say  to  you  when 
they  caught  you  poaching?" 

A  slow  twinkle  overspread  John's  face.  "  Sure 
they  aye  knew  I  hadn't  one,"  he  replied,  as  he 
unfolded  the  piece  of  paper,  and  addressed  himself 
to  the  effort  of  deciphering  it.  "  Mr.  Frank 
Norman,"  he  read  out.  Then  again  he  made  a 
heavy  pause,  and  a  recollection  dawned  visibly  on 
his  face.  "  Ye'll  not  be  the  wee  fellow  that  used  to 
be  stopping  with  the  colonel  —  the  colonel's  nevvy 
out  of  London  ?  " 

"Just  that,  John.  Isn't  it  a  hard  case  you 
wouldn't  know  me  ?  " 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  35 

"  Not  a  one  of  yez  I  knowed  then." 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  knew  you,  John,  but  I  never 
thought  to  see  you  lifting  licenses.  It  wasn't  that 
way  with  you  when  I  used  to  be  coming  to  the 
lough." 

"  No,  troth.  But  I  had  to  quet  the  poach- 
ing. They  were  too  sharp  on  me  this  good 
while." 

"  And  now  you're  watching  the  water  ?  " 

Millicent  had  been  following  the  scene  with 
great  interest,  but  imperfect  comprehension.  She 
made  out  plainly  enough  that  Mr.  Frank  Norman, 
since  that  was  his  name,  had  taken  upon  himself 
the  responsibility  of  the  capture.  But  to  her  mind 
she  was  already  more  than  sufficiently  indebted  to 
this  Mr.  Norman;  and  besides,  having  caught  a 
salmon,  she  was  no  way  disposed  to  conceal  the  fact. 
Why  should  she?  It  was  nothing  wrong. 

"  But  I  don't  understand,"  she  put  in  peremp- 
torily. "  They  told  me  the  fishing  was  free.  Hasn't 
every  one  a  right  to  fish  here  ?  " 

"  Surely,  miss,  if  the  colonel  doesn't  stop  them 
from  going  on  his  land." 

This  was  a  blow.  But  Millicent  decided  that 
she  would  much  rather  face  the  worst  than  add  to 
her  indebtedness. 

"  And  are  you  a  keeper  of  the  colonel's?  " 

"  No,  miss.  I'm  watching  the  water  for  the  con- 
servators." 


36  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  To  see  if  anybody's  catching  salmon  without  a 
license?  "  put  in  the  "  colonel's  nevvy." 

"  Just  that,"  replied  John. 

Millicent  was  not  English  for  nothing,  and  it 
appeared  to  her  that  unwarrantable  liberties  were 
being  taken  with  the  rights  of  Miss  Millicent 
Carteret. 

"  But  so  long  as  they  are  fishing  for  trout,  they 
aren't  doing  anything  wrong." 

"  No,  miss." 

"  And  supposing  a  person  caught  a  salmon 
when  they  are  fishing  for  trout,  what  ought  they 
to  do?" 

"  They  be  to  put  it  back." 

Millicent  looked  aghast.  "  Why,  what  would  be 
the  good  in  catching  it,  then?  Besides,  supposing 
it  was  killed  with  the  gaff  ?  " 

John  chuckled.  "  Naebody  goes  trout-fishing  wi' 
a  gaff." 

Millicent  was  decidedly  confounded,  and  the 
effect  of  confusion  was  to  make  her  angry.  Before 
she  had  recovered,  young  Norman  spoke  again. 

"  Did  you  ever  catch  any  of  them  at  it,  John  ?  " 

"  Ah  did  that  —  some  parties  out  of  England." 

"  And  what  did  you  do  ?  " 

"Ah  said  Ah  would  give  their  names  to  the 
inspector." 

"Was  that  all,  John?" 

"  Ah  took  the  fush." 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  37 

"  Did  you  give  in  the  fish  to  the  inspector  ?  " 

A  slow  smile  stole  over  John's  face.  "  Ah  took 
the  fish,  onyway." 

Millicent's  anger  blazed.  "  I  don't  believe  you 
had  any  right  to  it.  Look  here.  It  was  I  who 
caught  that  fish,  and  I  defy  you  to  take  it." 

John  looked  at  her  with  compassion.  "  Ye'll  no 
ask  me  to  believe  thon  ?  " 

"  You  must  never  contradict  a  lady,  John,"  said 
Mr.  Norman,  whose  enjoyment  of  the  situation  was 
rousing  Millicent  to  fury. 

"  Ah'm  not  asking  to  contradict  her." 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Millicent,  "  it  was  I  who  caught 
that  fish." 

John  looked  at  her  with  a  twinkle.  "  Mebbe  it 
was  you  I  saw  pouthering  down  thonder  through 
the  water  among  the  bushes?  " 

"  Well,  if  you  saw  that,  you  saw  me  playing  the 
fish,"  she  retorted. 

"  Surely  I  seen  him  reaching  you  up  the  rod  when 
he  was  facing  at  the  bank  ?  " 

Millicent  grew  more  and  more  annoyed.  "  He 
only  gaffed  the  fish,"  she  repeated ;  "  it  was  I  who 
caught  it.  If  he  had  hooked  it,  I  should  have  been 
the  one  to  gaff  it." 

John  looked  at  her  with  undisguised  contempt, 
for  John  was  not  gallant. 

"  What  man  would  let  a  woman  gaff  a  fish  for 
him?  But  indeed,  then,  I  wondered  to  see  him 


38  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

trustin'  you  so  long  with  the  rod.  I  would  aye  like 
to  play  my  own  fish,  and  gaff  them  too." 

Millicent  looked  at  Norman  between  anger  and 
amusement. 

"  It's  too  bad,"  she  said. 

He  shook  with  suppressed  laughter,  but  a  gleam 
of  design  came  into  his  eye. 

"  I  warn  you,  John,"  he  said,  "  you  won't  be 
doing  your  duty  if  you  don't  get  that  lady's  name 
and  address." 

But  John  was  out  of  temper.  "  What  do  I 
want  with  her  name  ?  She's  only  trying  to  make  a 
fool  of  me."  Then  he  paused.  "  She'll  be  some 
woman  out  of  England  with  a  big  purse  till  her, 
that  ye're  courtin'  for  yourself." 

It  was  one  of  Millicent's  chief  afflictions  that  she 
was  subject  to  blushes,  and  although  she  did  not 
catch  John's  words  exactly,  the  sense  was  obvious 
enough,  and  left  her  exceedingly  disconcerted.  Her 
partner  in  the  imputation  was  not  much  less  em- 
barrassed —  perhaps  only  the  more  embarrassed 
because  he  was  entirely  unable  to  control  his 
laughter  —  and  John,  after  a  glance  at  the  couple 
that  confirmed  him  amply  in  the  estimate  of  his  own 
sagacity,  shambled  off,  muttering  — 

"  There's  not  many  that'll  make  a  fool  of  John 
Gallagher." 

Frank  Norman  recovered  his  self-possession  with 
an  effort,  and  began  to  talk  rapidly. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  39 

"  You  must  pardon  John's  ways  of  speech. 
He's  a  queer  beast,  and  you  touched  one  of  his 
weaknesses.  You  see,  he  has  no  opinion  of  what 
he  calls  *'  the  weemen/  and  he  has  a  great  opinion 
of  the  Owenbeg  salmon.  There  was  a  man  fishing 
with  us  one  day  long  ago  —  rather  a  duffer  —  and 
he  began  talking  to  John  about  his  aspirations. 
He  wanted  to  get  into  a  big  fish  —  a  real  big  fish, 
that  would  make  a  real  fight  of  it.  John  looked 
at  him  and  looked  at  his  rod,  and  just  said,  '  Ye'd 
like  to  get  intil  a  big  fish,  would  ye?  Troth,  then, 
the  divil  along  you  and  it  wad  be  thegither.'  It 
cost  John  half  a  crown ;  he  knew  he  was  losing  his 
tip,  but  he  couldn't  help  himself." 

Millicent  laughed  in  a  perfunctory  way. 

"  I  really  ought  to  beg  your  pardon  for  my  inter- 
ference," Frank  Norman  went  on,  "but,  strictly 
speaking,  John  was  right.  You  weren't  entitled  to 
kill  that  fish;  or,  at  least,  you  were  bound  to  take 
out  a  license  if  you  did?" 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  Millicent,  "  that  if  I  had 
decided  to  take  out  a  license,  and  told  him  so,  it 
would  have  been  all  right  ?  " 

Frank  grew  a  little  uncomfortable.  "  Oh,  I  sup- 
pose so.  But,  of  course,  you  are  only  here  for 
trout-fishing,  and  I  presumed  you  wouldn't  care  to 
trouble  about  it." 

"  I  wish  you  had  told  me,"  said  Millicent.  "  Of 
course,  I  shall  take  out  the  license  if  I  am  bound 


40  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

to.  I  wanted  to  catch  the  salmon,  and  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you  for  helping  me,  but  I  did  not 
want  to  be  afraid  of  a  keeper." 

The  truth  in  Millicent's  mind  was  that,  as  things 
went,  it  was  certainly  impossible  for  her  to  recall 
John  and  make  him  carry  the  fish.  She  did  not 
see  her  own  way  to  carrying  it ;  and  how  to  get  rid 
of  this  young  man  she  knew  not.  What  business 
had  he  to  make  her  a  partner  in  a  kind  of  con- 
spiracy without  even  explaining  his  design?  It 
was  all  much  too  ingenious  to  be  dignified;  unless 
she  had  had  a  share  in  the  devising  of  it  —  and  the 
end  had  only  added  to  her  embarrassment. 

The  young  man  could  not  follow  all  this  com- 
plication of  cause  and  effect;  but  about  the  effect 
he  had  no  chance  to  be  mistaken.  She  resented 
what  he  had  done,  and  the  pleasant  beginning  of 
half  an  hour  back  seemed  utterly  blotted  out.  He 
looked  at  her  ruefully. 

"  Oh,  you  English !  Did  you  ever  in  all  your 
life  get  over  a  locked  gate?  Did  you  ever  dis- 
regard a  notice-board?  I  merely  thought  that  I 
would  save  you  trouble  —  and  perhaps  amuse  you 
a  little." 

When  a  person  is  so  contrite  as  that,  Millicent 
reflected,  one  may  relax  a  little  of  one's  severity. 

"When  you  talk  of  notice-boards,"  she  said, 
"perhaps  you  will  tell  me  if  I  ought  to  be  prose- 
cuted. They  told  me  at  Lough  Drummond,  where 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  41 

I  am  staying,  that  I  could  fish  anywhere  on  the 
river  except  just  near  Rathdrum;  but  that  man 
said  I  ought  to  have  leave  from  a  colonel,  who 
seems  to  be  your  uncle." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  things  aren't  very  hard  and 
fast  in  this  country.  Colonel  Lisle  is  my  uncle, 
and  he  owns  this  place,  but  most  people  about  here 
have  leave  if  they  care  to ;  he  never  refuses  it." 

"  All  the  more  reason  that  I  oughtn't  to  have 
taken  it  without  asking.  Do  you  think  I  could 
write  and  apologize  ?  " 

"  I  beg  you  won't.  On  the  contrary,  will  you 
accept  my  assurance  that  you  are  only  too  welcome 
to  fish  here  whenever  you  like  ?  "  Then  an  idea 
crossed  his  mind.  "  But  you  are  English.  I  will 
make  my  uncle  write  and  send  you  a  formal  per- 
mission, if  you  will  allow  me.  Where  are  you 
staying  at  Lough  Drummond  ?  " 

"  With  a  woman  called  Margaret  Coyle.  I  dare 
say  you  know  her.  But  I  couldn't  think  of  troub- 
ling Colonel  Lisle." 

He  began  a  protestation. 

"  No,  really  no.  You  see,  I  am  supposed  to  be 
painting,  and  I  shall  be,  only  I  wanted  to  try 
the  fishing  my  first  day,  and  it  was  too  calm  for 
the  lake,  so  I  started  on  a  voyage  of  discovery. 
But  you  see,  down  here,  even  the  best  of  luck  has 
its  drawbacks ;  "  and  she  looked  ruefully  at  the  big 
fish. 


42  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "don't  trouble  about  that.  If 
you  insist  that  I  am  not  to  carry  him,  I  will  send 
down  a  small  boy  from  the  yard,  who  will  take 
him  over  to  Margaret's  for  sixpence.  But  I  was 
going  to  make  a  suggestion.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  with  your  fish,  now  you  have  him  ?  " 

Again  she  looked  at  her  salmon  with  an  air  of 
amused  bewilderment. 

"  Eat  him,  I  suppose.  It  looks  an  awful  lot,  but 
I  suppose  Margaret  will  help." 

"Suppose  she  doesn't?"  he  retorted,  laughing. 
"  Suppose  you  have  to  begin  at  the  head,  and  go 
steadily  on  to  the  tail.  No;  but  seriously,  there  is 
an  alternative.  You  might  possibly  like  to  let  your 
friends  see  this  trophy." 

Millicent's  face  shone.  "  Oh,  if  they  only  could ! 
They  simply  scoffed.  But  they're  all  in  London." 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  It's  all  right.  I  sent  a  fish 
there  myself  this  week."  He  pulled  out  his  watch. 
"  Half-past  four.  There's  just  convenient  time. 
I  must  go  up  to  the  house,  anyhow,  to  change,  and 
I  can  put  the  fish  up  for  you,  and  send  it  off  with  a 
messenger  to  the  post." 

"  Can  you  really  ?  "  said  Millicent ;  and  a  glow 
of  joy  spread  over  her  as  she  thought  of  the 
astonished  faces  in  Bayswater,  and  the  triumphant 
refutation  of  all  cavillings.  Decidedly,  she  felt 
kindly  to  this  Mr.  Norman.  He  really  was  good- 
looking,  and  he  really  was  pleasant  and  friendly. 


THE   OLD  KNOWLEDGE  43 

"That  would  be  perfectly  lovely!  But  isn't  it 
giving  you  an  awful  lot  of  trouble?" 

"Awful!"  he  said.  "Would  you  like  to  make 
it  up  to  me?  Of  course,  if  you  want  to  go  on 
fishing,  you  can  just  write  down  the  address  now, 
and  I  will  copy  it  on  to  a  label.  But  I  don't 
believe  fishing  will  be  any  use  in  this  glare;  and, 
anyhow,  trout  would  be  an  anti-climax,  wouldn't 
they?" 

"  I'm  afraid  they  would.  Oh  dear,  I  shall  never 
be  contented  again." 

"  That's  true,"  he  answered.  "  You  will  go 
out  on  the  lough,  and  be  happily  amusing  your- 
self, and  then  a  salmon  will  jump  somewhere 
near  you,  and  you  will  be  consumed  with  a  divine 
discontent,  and  put  up  big  flies  and  kill  nothing. 
But,  look  here,  can't  I  persuade  you  to  come  up 
to  the  house  and  address  the  label  yourself,  and 
let  my  cousins  give  you  a  cup  of  tea?  And 
then,  afterwards,  we  could  drive  you  over  to 
Margaret's." 

Millicent  was  rather  overwhelmed.  Of  course, 
such  a  thing  was  out  of  the  question;  but  still 
she  could  not  but  be  pleased  by  the  offer. 

"Thanks  ever  so  much,"  she  said;  "but  really, 
I  had  rather  not.  I  will  just  make  my  way  to 
where  I  left  my  bicycle.  I  can  fish  up  to  there  on 
the  way  home." 

"You  really  mean  it?"  he  said  imploringly. 


44  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  Really  and  truly.  Only  will  you  do  one  more 
thing?  Tell  me  if  I  can  avoid  that  awful  wood 
there;  "  and  she  pointed  to  the  long  planting. 

"  Of  course  you  can,"  he  said,  slightly  cheered. 
"  If  you  don't  mind  walking  with  me  as  far  as  the 
gate  "  —  and  he  pointed  across  the  field  —  "I  can 
show  you  a  lane  that  goes  round  it." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  consent,  and,  in 
truth,  she  had  no  will  to  refuse.  She  was  as  pleased 
with  the  world  as  anybody  else  who  has  just 
caught  their  first  salmon,  and  added  to  that  was 
the  exhilaration  of  finding  herself  successfully  sur- 
mounting all  manner  of  complications.  And  the 
young  man  who  had  partly  made  the  complications, 
and  partly  helped  her  over  them,  was  a  young  man 
with  a  pleasant  face,  a  pleasant  voice,  and  a  proper 
sense  of  his  privileges.  Millicent  had  not  been  an 
art  student  for  five  years  without  becoming  ac- 
customed to  the  homage  of  young  men,  and  this 
young  man's  method  of  conveying  it  pleased  her 
more  than  a  little.  He  had  kind  eyes,  she  decided, 
in  the  moment  of  waiting  while  he  recovered  his 
rod  from  where  it  had  been  laid  down  when  he 
came  to  her  assistance. 

He  slung  the  fish  by  its  gills  on  the  gaff,  and  they 
set  out  in  the  soft  sunshine  across  the  broad  meadow. 

"  And  so  you  are  at  Margaret's,"  he  said.  "  She's 
a  very  old  friend  of  mine.  But  isn't  it  rather  too 
unlike  the  sort  of  thing  you  are  accustomed  to  ?  " 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  45 

"  Margaret  is  a  perfect  dear,"  she  answered  with 
enthusiasm,  "  and  it's  exactly  what  I  hoped  it  would 
be  —  only  much  nicer." 

"  How  on  earth  did  you  hear  of  it  ?  " 

"  A  cousin  of  mine  told  me  about  it.  He  had 
stayed  there  a  couple  of  times." 

So  there  was  a  cousin,  Frank  Norman  reflected, 
and  he  was  conscious  of  a  regret.  But,  after  all, 
the  hour  was  his  —  till  he  reached  the  gate  —  and 
he  drew  her  on  to  discourse  painting.  Talk  sprang 
up  easily  and  gaily  between  them,  as  it  does  when 
behind  the  light  words  is  the  unspoken  and  perhaps 
the  unconscious  pleasure  of  two  young  people  in 
each  other's  presence. 


CHAPTER  V 

THEY  had  come  to  the  gate  leading  out  of  Strath- 
more,  into  the  fringe  of  trees  —  an  iron  gate  with 
a  bolt  to  it,  in  theory,  but  for  practical  purposes 
secured  by  a  large  stone,  which  Frank  Norman  pro- 
ceeded to  remove. 

"  If  you  persist  in  pursuing  your  anti-climax," 
he  said,  "  this  track  to  the  left  will  take  you  to  a 
field,  and  you  can  keep  along  the  plantation  till 
you  come  to  the  river.  But  I  tell  you  candidly,  I 
never  heard  of  anything  more  unreasonable.  You 
don't  understand  Irish  ways." 

She  made  him  a  laughing  little  bow.  "  Irish 
people  have  been  very  nice,  but  one  cannot  learn  all 
at  once.  Be  patient  with  a  mere  Saxon.  I  will  say 
good-bye  here,  and  thank  you  ever  so  much." 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  if  you  must,  you  must. 
But  you  haven't  given  me  the  address  for  your 
trophy  yet.  There  —  will  you  write  it  on  that?" 
he  said,  producing  the  license  which  had  been 
brandished  in  the  face  of  John  Gallagher. 

Millicent  wrote  her  mother's  address. 
46 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  47 

"Isn't  it  necessary  to  put  the  sender's  name?" 
suggested  Frank,  mendaciously,  scrutinizing  it.  "  I 
suppose  I  may  add  '  from  Miss  Carteret '  ?  " 

"  If  you  like,"  said  Millicent. 

"  '  Westbrook  Square/  "  he  read  out  reflectively. 
"  I  have  dined  in  Westbrook  Square.  Must  you 
really  be  going,  Miss  Carteret?  May  I  call  you  a 
hansom?  " 

They  both  laughed. 

"  It  is  a  long  way  off,"  said  Millicent. 

But  he  was  still  turning  over  the  paper  in  his 
hands. 

"  '  Mr.  Frank  Norman,'  "  he  read  out  —  "  '  Miss 
Carteret.'  May  I  take  it  that  this  constitutes  an 
introduction  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Millicent.  "  At  least, 
I  shall  know  what  to  call  you  the  next  time  you 
come  to  remonstrate  with  me  for  poaching," 

And  mentally  she  resolved  that  never  again 
should  any  young  man  find  her  in  a  position  from 
which  it  was  so  difficult  to  issue  with  perfect  dignity. 
If  ever  she  met  this  young  man  again,  she  would 
teach  him  a  lesson. 

"  Good-bye  —  till  then,"  she  finished,  holding  out 
her  hand.  "  I  never  was  so  obliged  to  any  one  in 
my  life." 

"  It  is  good-bye  to  your  fish,"  he  said.  "  Think 
of  it  —  your  first  salmon !  " 

"I  know.     Isn't  he  beautiful?     Oh,  I  wish  I 


48  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

could  take  him  back  to  show  to  Margaret !  I  want 
spectators." 

"  You  shall  have  one  more,  anyhow,"  said  Frank 
Norman,  laughing.  "  Here's  my  uncle." 

Millicent  started  and  blushed  —  blushed  crimson, 
and  for  a  second  time  she  was  furious  with  Frank. 
As  it  had  been,  she  was  triumphantly  disengaging 
herself  from  quite  a  confusing  situation;  but  now 
here  with  a  vengeance  was  confusion  worse  con- 
founded. Two  minutes  —  one  minute  ago  —  she 
had  been  the  self-possessed  actor  in  quite  a  pretty 
little  comedy  —  a  fencer  perfectly  at  home  with  the 
foil ;  now  she  was,  and  she  knew  it,  something  ex- 
tremely like  an  embarrassed  schoolgirl. 

"Oh!" 

That  was  the  most  she  could  bring  herself  to 
say;  and  the  worst  of  it  was,  she  knew  that  she 
had  said  too  much. 

"  My  uncle  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly,"  said  Frank : 
"  and  he  doesn't  live  in  Bayswater." 

Millicent  was  furious,  and  more  than  furious.  It 
was  intolerable.  Positively  for  the  third  time  this 
detestable  young  man  was  openly  coming  to  her 
rescue.  As  for  the  figure  coming  leisurely  down 
the  cart-track  that  led  straight  to  the  gate,  she  had 
no  eyes  for  it.  "  My  uncle "  was  a  colonel,  a 
formal  military  man,  who  would  either  be  stiff  or 
condescending.  She  always  hated  colonels,  she 
reflected  to  herself,  but  she  had  never  hated  them 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  49 

with  a  tenth  part  of  this  animosity.  But  as  the 
enemy  approached,  and  she  was  forced  by  mere 
convention  to  consider  him,  she  was  at  once  aware 
that  no  one  could  accuse  this  colonel  of  formality. 
There  was  unconstraint  in  his  slow  easy  walk,  in 
the  loose  hang  of  his  clothes,  but  most  of  all  in  the 
gentle  lines  of  his  face.  She  was  conscious  that 
he  was  regarding  her  with  curiosity;  but  it  was 
very  different  from  the  usual  English  glance,  that 
either  blankly  ignores  a  stranger's  existence,  or 
challenges  his  right  to  exist.  It  reassured  her 
greatly  to  be  looked  at  in  this  friendly  way.  And 
his  voice,  when  he  spoke,  though  he  made  no 
allusion  to  her  presence,  carried  a  sound  —  and  per- 
haps also  a  laughing  innuendo  —  of  welcome. 

"  Well,  Frank,  you're  in  luck  to-day,  I  see." 

"  It  isn't  my  fish,  Uncle  Fred,  I  only  came  up 
in  time  to  land  him.  You  must  congratulate  Miss 
Carteret ; "  and  he  went  through  the  formality  of 
introduction. 

"  Miss  Carteret  is  staying  with  Margaret  Coyle," 
Frank  went  on,  "  and  this  is  her  first  salmon. 
She  wants  to  send  it  to  her  friends  in  London,  and 
I  said  it  could  go  with  the  bag  from  the  house.'' 

"  Surely  it  can,"  said  the  colonel ;  "  and  I'm  de- 
lighted that  Miss  Carteret  should  have  so  good  an 
errand  for  the  post  to  do." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Colonel  Lisle,"  said  Millicent, 
nervously ;  "  everybody  is  too  kind.  I  feel  so 


5o  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

ashamed,  for  I've  only  just  found  out  that  I  ought 
not  to  have  been  fishing  in  your  meadow." 

"  And  how  did  you  find  that  out,  my  dear  young 
lady?  You  don't  want  me  to  believe  that  Frank 
has  been  warning  you  off.  If  he  did,  it  was  only 
out  of  jealousy ;  and,  indeed,  I  wouldn't  wonder  at 
it,  for,  look  at  you  with  that  little  toy  rod  coming 
home  with  a  fine  fish,  and  him  empty-handed." 

Millicent  felt  a  glow  of  conscious  pride  that  im- 
pelled her  to  be  generous. 

"  Indeed,  Colonel  Lisle,  it  was  Mr.  Norman  who 
caught  the  fish  as  much  as  I.  He  went  through  the 
river  after  it." 

The  colonel's  eyes  rested  quizzically  on  Frank's 
sodden  garments. 

"  I  noticed  you  were  a  little  wet,  Frank,"  he  said ; 
"  but  I  thought  maybe  you  had  just  slipped  in  when 
you  were  trying  to  break  the  ice." 

Millicent  felt  that  she  was  being  laughed  at :  that 
the  pair  of  them  were  being  laughed  at.  But,  after 
all,  it  was  not  she  whose  clothes  hung  limp  and 
muddy;  and,  after  all,  but  for  the  episode,  her  first 
salmon  would  not  be  on  its  way  to  Westbrook 
Square;  and  the  slow  lines  of  laughter  about  the 
colonel's  eyes  set  her  own  muscles  copying  them. 
What  made  it  funnier  still,  was  that  Frank  Norman 
did  not  share  the  merriment.  He  looked  a  little 
annoyed,  and  vaguely  she  had  a  sense  that  he  was 
annoyed  not  on  his  account,  but  on  hers.  She 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  51 

began  to  feel  more  charitable  as  she  compared  their 
situations. 

"  I  always  told  you  that  ash  tree  below  the  thorn- 
hole  was  a  common  nuisance,  Uncle  Fred,"  he 
asserted  rather  angrily,  "  Miss  Carteret  nearly  lost 
her  fish  in  it." 

"  Well,  well,  Frank.  It's  well  for  the  poor  little 
bush  that  she  didn't,  or  it  would  have  a  short  shrift, 
I  suppose.  Still,  many's  the  salmon  I  saw  killed  in 
that  hole,  in  spite  of  all  the  ash  trees.  But  if  Miss 
Carteret  pronounces  sentence  —  " 

"  I  wouldn't  for  the  world,  Colonel  Lisle.  Be- 
sides," Millicent  added  sweetly,  with  the  base  nature 
of  woman,  joining  the  attack  upon  youth  in  dis- 
tress, "  I  don't  think  the  salmon  would  have  gone 
there,  only  that  Mr.  Norman  threw  a  stone  at  it." 

The  colonel  heaved  up  his  hands.  "  Well,  well, 
Frank,  some  ice  takes  a  terrible  deal  of  breaking. 
First  stone-throwing,  and  then  in  you  go  yourself." 

Frank  saw  his  opportunity.  "  But,  Uncle  Fred, 
Miss  Carteret  won't  admit  the  ice  is  broken." 

Millicent  perceived  the  snare  into  which  she  had 
fallen;  but,  after  all,  decidedly  Ireland  was  very 
unlike  Bayswater. 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  any  ice  in  this  country 
at  all,  Colonel  Lisle,"  she  said,  "  and  I  am  quite  glad 
that  I  trespassed,  since  I  had  the  chance  of  making 
my  apologies  to  you." 

"  Listen  to  that,  Frank,"  said  the  colonel.    "  When 


52  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

will  a  pretty  young  lady  say  the  like  of  that  to  you  ? 
It's  a  great  thing  to  be  old :  it  saves  you  trampling 
through  rivers  and  cutting  down  ash  trees,  and  I 
don't  know  what  not.  Well,  now,  Miss  Carteret, 
you've  confessed  very  honourably,  and  I'm  a  Jus- 
tice of  the  Peace  for  this  county.  I'll  not  keep  you 
waiting  for  your  punishment.  You  shall  be  taken 
up  to  the  house  and  delivered  over  to  the  people 
there  are  there,  and  detained  at  discretion,  and' 
Frank  shall  give  them  instructions  to  put  you  on  the 
diet  of  the  place." 

The  colonel's  slow,  soft  voice  came  out  of  his 
large  chest  with  such  a  curious  inflection  that  all 
sorts  of  reserves  and  formalities  seemed  as  if  they 
never  existed.  It  was  like  the  south-west  wind 
blowing,  or  the  noise  of  a  river  running,  with  an 
undertone  of  deep  gentle  laughter. 

"But,  Colonel  Lisle,"  Millicent  pleaded,  "if  I 
am  to  be  put  into  prison,  won't  you  put  me  in  your- 
self?" 

The  colonel  looked  at  his  watch.  "  Those  girls 
will  be  wanting  me  to  insult  my  dinner,  if  I  go 
up  with  you,"  he  said,  "  with  their  teas  and  cakes 
and  things.  It's  a  hard  world.  Very  well,  then, 
Miss  Carteret,  I'll  be  judge  and  executioner,  and 
the  whole  of  it.  Hurry  on,  you,  Frank,  with  that 
fish,  and  get  it  sweeled  up  in  straw,  and  put  some 
other  clothes  on  you,  the  way  you'll  be  a  little 
decent  to  meet  Miss  Carteret,  when  she  gets  the 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  53 

length  of  the  house.  And  I  wonder  to  see  you 
letting  her  carry  her  own  basket.  I  suppose  she 
won't  be  parted  from  the  rod,  now  she's  killed  a 
salmon  on  it." 

Millicent  gave  up  her  encumbrances  at  this  ex- 
hortation, and  Frank,  laden  with  them,  sped  away 
to  the  house,  leaving  her  to  follow  with  his  uncle. 


CHAPTER   VI 

IT  is  not  a  long  way  from  Strathmore  to  Ballin- 
derry  House;  but  the  colonel's  walk  was  slow  and 
easy  as  his  speech,  and  before  Millicent  had  reached 
the  end  of  the  wide  lane  between  its  lines  of  trees, 
and  passed  through  the  large  untidy  yards,  about 
which  it  seemed  to  her  there  were  buildings  enough 
to  quarter  a  regiment,  she  was  talking  to  her  com- 
panion of  all  manner  of  remote  and  unexpected 
things;  now  comparing  notes  over  pictures  in 
Dresden  —  and  Millicent  marvelled  at  the  memory 
that  was  fresher  for  things  seen  half  a  century  ago, 
than  hers  of  two  summers  back;  now  opening  up 
eagerly  modern  controversies. 

"  They're  always  talking  now  about  this  impres- 
sionism, and  Frank  here  tells  me  it  means  painting 
just  what  a  man  sees.  Well,  now,  Miss  Carteret, 
I'll  tell  you:  it's  painting  what  a  man  sees  when 
he  doesn't  know  what  he's  looking  at.  A  fellow 
sits  down  to  paint  a  cow  that  wouldn't  know  a 
shorthorn  from  a  galloway,  and  he  makes  a  kind 
of  a  blotch.  But  these  old  Dutchmen  painted 
54 


THE  OLD   KNOWLEDGE  55 

what  a  man  would  see  that  knew  enough  to  buy 
and  sell  in  any  market.  Or  look  at  their  trees. 
Where's  there  one  of  them  now  can  paint  like 
Turner,  so  that  you'd  know  the  wind  the  tree  grows 
under,  and  the  kind  of  soil  it's  growing  in  ? " 

"  Turner  would  have  liked  your  trees,  Colonel 
Lisle,"  said  Millicent,  who  was  half  following  the 
talk,  and  half  drinking  in  the  unfamiliar  sur- 
roundings. 

They  were  approaching  the  house  now,  a  big, 
square-built  mass  of  grey  stone,  with  slated  roof, 
strong  and  plain ;  but  the  lawn  made  more  than 
enough  of  beauty.  Trees  everywhere;  a  belt  of 
them  along  the  river,  where  it  ran  on  its  down- 
ward way  from  the  Strathmore  bend ;  trees  growing 
singly  or  in  noble  clumps  of  two  or  three  in  the 
rich  pasture  with  lengthening  shadows  stretching 
over  it;  near  the  house  a  gigantic  copper  beech 
made  a  mass  of  contrasting  colour. 

The  colonel  shook  his  head.  "If  you'd  seen 
the  place  before  the  big  storm  two  years  ago !  but 
look  there,  and  there,  and  there  "  —  he  pointed  to 
great  stumps  levelled  with  the  grass  —  "I  could 
hardly  bear  to  look  out  of  the  door  for  a  long 
time.  When  a  tree  goes  that  you've  known  all 
your  life,  it's  like  a  death ;  and,  indeed,  the  trees  are 
living  creatures." 

It  was  hard  for  Millicent  to  imagine  how  the 
grouping  of  all  that  timber  could  be  bettered  —  all 


56  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

these  trees  set  with  long  prevision,  in  their  min- 
gling beauties,  to  make  a  harmony,  like  flowers  in 
a  garden.  Living  creatures,  surely;  there  was  a 
caress  and  a  salutation  in  the  air;  it  was  full  of 
the  breath  of  trees.  And  the  people  who  owned 
them,  who  had  planted  them  and  loved  them,  from 
generation  to  generation,  were  part  of  the  place, 
no  less  than  the  rooted  growth.  She  had  stayed 
in  English  country  houses  where  folk  came  and 
went  for  seasons,  but  never  seen  or  known  a  life 
like  this,  so  perfectly  centred  in  one  atmosphere. 
The  colonel,  for  all  his  interest  in  the  outside  world, 
his  tales  of  German  student  ways  and  the  rest,  was 
nevertheless  indigenous  to  the  soil  in  his  big  house, 
as  Margaret  in  her  cottage. 

And  the  house,  when  she  entered,  was  to  her  eyes 
hardly  less  strange  than  Margaret's  dwelling.  A 
large  well-proportioned  hall  was  roughly  furnished 
with  a  table  or  two,  and  an  oak  settle;  dim  family 
portraits  hung  on  the  wall.  But  the  floor  of  plain 
deal  boarding  was  uncarpeted,  and  flaws  in  the 
boarding  were  patched  over  with  lead.  A  swing 
door  leading  from  it  was  covered  with  mouldy  green 
baize.  Millicent  thought  in  a  flash  of  her  mother, 
and  almost  laughed  aloud.  She  thought  of  trim 
entrances  in  Bayswater,  neatly  provided  with  carpet 
of  the  most  recent  date,  and  furnished  for  dignity 
with  a  stuffed  bird  or  two,  because  there  should 
be  such  things  in  a  hall.  Here  a  huge  pair  of 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  57 

elk's  branching  antlers  spread  above  the  empty  fire- 
place, gaunt,  spacious,  and  suggestive.  Frank's 
salmon  rods  stretched  on  pegs  along  part  of  one 
wall. 

In  the  drawing-room,  when  the  colonel  opened 
the  door  for  her,  Millicent  was  conscious  of  the 
same  sense  of  elbow  room.  And  certainly  it  was 
not  overcrowded  by  the  two  little  old  ladies  who 
rose  up  to  greet  her  with  the  same  natural  impulse 
to  welcome  that  the  newcomer  felt  wherever  she 
turned.  Two  little  small  old  ladies,  quaint  and 
dainty  as  Chelsea  figures,  old-fashioned  and  faded 
as  the  early  Victorian  furniture  of  their  room. 

All  the  way  up  from  the  river,  a  fear  had  lurked 
in  Millicent's  mind.  The  colonel  was  very  friendly, 
Mr.  Norman  was  very  friendly,  but  would  the 
ladies  greet  her  with  a  stony  disapprobation?  At 
the  sight  of  their  faces  the  fear  was  forgotten. 
They  had  not  particularly  clever  or  characteristic 
faces,  Millicent  thought,  but  about  the  corners  of 
their  eyes  were  the  same  quiet  lines  of  mirth  that 
deepened  and  doubled  around  the  colonel's.  Only 
Millicent  was  a  little  puzzled.  The  colonel  had 
spoken  of  "  the  girls." 

He  was  introducing  her  now. 

"  Here's  a  young  lady  for  you  that  has  just  been 
catching  her  first  salmon." 

"  Frank  came  in  and  told  us,"  they  said.  "  But, 
Miss  Carteret,  you  must  be  tired  out  with  all  that 


58  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

walking.  Will  you  not  take  a  glass  of  wine  and  a 
biscuit  ?  " 

Millicent  protested  that  she  was  not  in  the  least 
fatigued,  and  that  tea  was  ample  for  her. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  girls  ?  "  said  the 
colonel.  ( "  So  these  are  the  girls,"  thought  Milli- 
cent. )  "  Don't  you  know  that  ladies  nowadays 
don't  get  tired.  It's  only  the  men  want  looking 
after.  Indeed,  Miss  Carteret,  I  don't  know  if  I 
did  right  in  bringing  you  here,  for  you'll  be  un- 
settling their  minds  and  they'll  want  to  be  stravag- 
ing  off  over  the  Continent,  or  to  the  North  Pole, 
or  who  knows  where?  They've  taken  to  the  bicycle 
already,  and  there'll  soon  be  no  holding  them." 

"  Now,  Uncle  Fred,"  said  the  smallest  of  the 
two  little  ladies,  "  you  needn't  be  giving  us  such  a 
bad  character  to  Miss  Carteret.  I'm  sure  she  rides 
a  bicycle  herself." 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  Millicent,  and  her  eyes  lit 
up  with  an  inward  laughter,  as  she  thought  of  the 
terrible  possibilities  that  might  reside  in  this  charm- 
ing and  dainty  piece  of  early  Victorian  porcelain, 
who  feared  that  the  recital  of  her  audacities  might 
shock  the  stranger. 

"  Listen  to  that,  now,  Miss  Carteret.  What  did 
I  tell  you?  It'll  be,  'Miss  Carteret  does  this,  and 
why  wouldn't  I  do  it  ?  '  and  '  Miss  Carteret  does 
that,  and  why  wouldn't  I  do  it  ? '  I  wouldn't  be 
a  bit  surprised  to  see  Cassy  there  away  out  with 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  59 

Frank's  salmon-rod  to-morrow  morning,  and  Selina 
putting  up  my  old  easel  and  off  with  her  to  the 
painting,  and  the  cook  coming  to  me  for  orders 
for  the  dinner." 

It  was  as  good  as  a  play,  Millicent  thought,  to 
see  the  two  little  ladies  ruffle  their  plumes  like  angry 
wrens  against  this  laughing  attack.  Miss  Selina's 
retort  was  practical. 

"  Martha  would  never  be  so  left  to  herself  as  to 
come  to  you  for  that,  Uncle  Fred.  She  has  more 
sense." 

(Millicent  inferred  that  Miss  Selina  did  the 
housekeeping. ) 

But  Miss  Cassy  was  a  bolder  combatant. 

"  Well,  and  why  not,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  I 
think  Miss  Carteret  is  quite  right.  I  don't  see  why 
the  men  should  have  all  the  amusement  and  leave  us 
to  do  the  work." 

"  But,  Miss  Lisle,  I  did  not  come  here  for  amuse- 
ment," answered  Millicent;  "I  came  here  to  do 
work,  only  I  don't  begin  to-day." 

"  It's  all  very  well,"  the  colonel  struck  in ;  "  but 
you  won't  persuade  anybody  in  this  country  that 
painting  pictures  is  doing  work.  There  was  a 
fellow  here  by  the  name  of  Hayes  last  summer 
doing  water-colours,  back  and  forward;  and  one 
day  he  was  doing  one  down  there  by  Ballyhernan 
bridge,  where  the  carry  is  —  you  would  see  the 
place  when  you  were  driving  out  to  Margaret's." 


60  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  I  saw  it,"  said  Millicent;  "  it  was  lovely." 
"  Well,  maybe  you  noticed  two  big  walls  there 
by  the  wood.  There  was  an  old  mason,  Micky 
Doherty  they  called  him,  and  a  right  bad  mason 
he  was,  and  when  Hayes  was  painting  down  below 
at  the  bottom  of  the  fall,  Micky  was  mending  a 
stile  in  one  of  the  walls  that  was  broken  down  with 
people  working  at  the  carry.  Well,  it  wasn't  long 
before  Micky  thought  he  would  like  a  rest,  and 
down  he  came  to  look  over  Hayes's  shoulder.  He 
watched  there  a  good  while,  and  then  he  asked 
Hayes,  '  Do  ye  follow  that  regular  ? '  And  Hayes 
said  he  did.  Then  Micky  watched  another  while, 
thinking  hard.  '  I  suppose  now,  it  would  take  as 
long  to  learn  that  as  to  learn  a  trade.'  Hayes  told 
him  it  was  a  trade.  '  And  do  ye  tell  me  now  ?  '  says 
Micky ;  but  for  all  that  Hayes  said,  you  could  see  he 
thought  that  was  plain  nonsense,  anyway.  Then 
he  watched  another  while  before  he  asked  the  next 
question.  '  Would  ye  be  aiming  to  sell  thon  ? ' 
Hayes  said  he  would.  '  And  would  ye  be  looking 
much  money  for  it  ? '  Hayes  said,  '  Maybe  ten 
pounds.'  And  when  he  said  ten  pounds,  Micky 
lifted  up  his  hands  and  said,  'Lord,  help  us! '  and 
away  with  him  back  to  the  building.  But  Hayes 
said,  whenever  he  looked  at  Micky  the  rest  of  the 
day,  Micky  was  not  doing  a  hand's  turn,  but  sitting 
on  the  wall  and  meditating  why  he  hadn't  learnt 
how  to  make  ten  pounds  by  dabbling  a  paint  brush." 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  61 

Millicent  laughed.  "  Well,  Colonel  Lisle,  I  won't 
ask  them  to  believe  anything  as  hard  as  that.  But 
shall  I  be  able  to  get  them  to  believe  that  sitting  to 
be  painted  is  a  proper  kind  of  work  ?  Do  you  know 
if  Mr.  Hayes  had  any  trouble  in  getting  models?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  tried ;  but  why  would  he  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  But  one  of  the  boys  at  Marga- 
ret's seemed  to  think  the  people  might  not  like  it." 

"  Ah,  that's  all  nonsense.  Of  course  I've  heard 
of  it.  But  they're  willing  enough  to  do  nothing  for 
money,  so  far  as  I've  found  them,  and  that's  all  you 
want." 

Millicent  laughed  again ;  but,  as  the  colonel  spoke, 
Frank  Norman  entered  the  room,  and  she  felt  a 
trace  of  her  confusion  return.  It  was  a  relief  to 
hear  the  colonel  attack  him  at  once. 

"  Is  that  you,  Frank  ?  Are  you  decent  again  ? 
Here's  Miss  Carteret  afraid  she  won't  be  able  to 
get  models  for  all  the  gold  in  the  Bank  of  England. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  people  that  wouldn't  be  paid 
to  have  their  portraits  painted,  and  painted  by  Miss 
Carteret.  I'll  engage  now,  Miss  Carteret,  if  all 
fails,  you'll  be  able  to  fall  back  on  Frank." 

"  I'm  afraid  Mr.  Norman  hasn't  quite  the  local 
colour,"  put  in  Millicent,  hastily. 

"  Not  even  in  Donegal  homespun,"  said  the 
young  man  as  he  took  his  tea  — "  not  even  in 
muddy  dripping  homespun.  No,  but  Uncle  Fred, 
I  have  heard  of  the  notion.  A  man  I  know  couldn't 


62  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

get  sitters  in  Connemara  by  hook  or  by  crook,  ex- 
cept a  few  sophisticated  gillies  and  such  like;  and 
they  had  been  demoralized  by  English  tourists  to 
such  an  extent  that  they  wanted  prohibitive  prices. 
But  the  others  wouldn't  sit,  not  even  when  he  got 
the  priest  to  speak  to  them." 

"  Well,  now,  do  you  hear  that,  Miss  Carteret  ? 
And  these  same  fellows  most  likely  will  be  crying 
out  about  a  famine  the  next  time  they  don't  want  to 
pay  their  rent." 

"  It's  too  bad  of  you,  Uncle  Fred,"  said  Miss 
Cassy.  "  Why  must  you  be  giving  the  people  a 
bad  name?  Don't  mind  him,  Miss  Carteret.  I 
can  remember  the  time  when  he  was  working  day 
and  night  to  keep  the  people  fed  up  in  the  mountains 
near  here." 

"That  doesn't  surprise  me  very  much,  Miss 
Lisle,"  said  Millicent.  "  But  isn't  it  a  queer  super- 
stition that  keeps  poor  people  from  taking  money 
when  it  is  offered  them  for  a  service." 

"  I  believe,  myself,"  said  Frank,  "  it's  nothing  but 
the  fear  of  ridicule.  Irish  people  have  a  terror  of 
being  laughed  at;  and  if  they  sat  they  would  be 
afraid  the  others  would  '  have  a  name  out  on  them,' 
as  they  say;  and  so  they  would,  most  likely.  But 
if  you  want  to  know  about  superstitions,  you 
ought  to  see  Conroy.  Is  he  here  still,  Cousin 
Cassy  ?  " 

"Who  is  Mr.  Conroy?"  asked  Millicent. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  63 

"  He's  a  bee-expert,  and  a  mystic,  and  a  great 
friend  of  mine." 

"  Of  course  he  is,"  said  the  colonel.  "  Frank  is 
hand  in  glove  with  all  the  Nationalist  blackguards 
in  the  county,  Miss  Carteret.  Not  that  I  say  a 
word  against  Conroy ;  he's  a  decent  fellow,  and  very 
honest  for  a  Papish." 

Millicent  looked  blankly  at  the  colonel.  "  Miss 
Carteret  is  shocked  at  your  bigotry,  Uncle  Fred," 
said  Frank.  "  You're  quite  right,  Miss  Carteret ; 
it's  shameful." 

"  I'm  not  shocked  —  I'm  only  puzzled.  What 
has  a  person's  religion  to  do  with  honesty?  And 
what  is  a  bee-expert  ?  And  why  is  he  a  mystic  ?  " 

"  Really,  Miss  Carteret,"  said  Frank,  getting 
up ;  "I  think  you  had  better  come  and  find  out 
answers  to  all  these  questions.  Conroy  is  paid  to 
know  about  bees,  and  he  knows  a  lot  of  queer 
things  about  them;  and  he  is  in  the  garden  at  this 
moment,  most  likely,  with  his  hands  in  the  middle 
of  a  swarm." 

"  And  a  bigger  swarm  in  his  bonnet,"  said  the 
colonel.  "  But  he  understands  bees.  You  should 
make  Frank  take  you  out  to  see  him,  Miss  Carteret." 

"And  Frank,"  said  Miss  Selina;  "if  you  go 
through  the  far  strawberry-bed,  you  might  find  a 
few  yet  for  Miss  Carteret." 

"  Strawberries  in  August,"  said  Millicent 
"  Why,  I  haven't  seen  a  strawberry  for  months ! " 


64  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"Ah,  Miss  Carteret,"  said  the  colonel;  "that's 
the  advantage  of  travel.  I  knew  a  man  once  who 
was  never  without  strawberries.  He  used  to  work 
up  from  the  Channel  Islands  in  the  early  spring, 
and  coming  by  way  of  Scotland  he  would  be  here 
about  the  middle  of  July;  and  he  fairly  lived  on 
strawberries ;  but  the  best  of  them  all,  he  said,  were 
the  ones  he  got  in  Iceland,  before  he  turned  back 
south  for  the  little  wild  strawberries  that  you 
eat  with  claret  and  sugar  for  a  salad  in  the  vintage 
time." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Carteret,"  said  Frank,  "  and  the  end 
of  him  was  that  he  accompanied  one  of  the  Arctic 
expeditions,  and  died  of  disappointment  because 
there  were  no  strawberries  at  the  North  Pole." 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  treat  your  elders,  Miss 
Carteret?  I  give  you  my  word,  I'm  the  most 
credible  man  in  this  country,  and  I  can  tell  you 
this :  any  little  story  I  ever  told  is  milk-and-water 
compared  to  the  lies  that  fellow  Conroy  will  tell 
you,  and  believe  them  himself,  mind  you,  and 
that's  worse." 

"  Come  along,  Miss  Carteret,"  said  Frank ; 
"my  cousin  is  gone  for  a  basket,  and  she'll  be 
after  us;  but  I  tell  you  in  confidence  the  straw- 
berries are  a  delusion.  You  must  fall  back  on 
plums." 


CHAPTER   VII 

As  they  came  out  of  the  house  and  walked  down 
the  drive  Millicent  was  silent,  and,  it  seemed  to 
Frank,  her  face  changed  curiously  as  it  wore  the 
look  of  rather  puzzled  thought.  It  was  the  kind 
of  face  that  might  hold  many  surprises  in  reserve, 
he  thought.  Silence  that  pursued  its  own  ideas, 
regardless  of  the  companion,  was  a  mark  of  good 
comradeship  anyhow;  and  he  waited  for  her  to 
speak. 

"Isn't  it  queer  —  isn't  it  all  queer?"  she  broke 
out  in  a  moment.  Then  she  checked  herself.  "  You 
don't  mind  my  saying  it." 

"  Of  course  I  don't.  I  knew  how  it  would  strike 
you,  I  say  it  to  myself  ten  times  a  day.  But  you 
don't  dislike  it,  I  hope?  " 

"  Dislike  it ! "  she  answered  energetically. 
"  Your  uncle  is  the  most  perfectly  delightful  per- 
son I  ever  met,  and  your  cousins  are  simply  sweet. 
But  it  is  queer  —  I  mean  —  they're  your  people,  of 
course,  but  still  you  don't  belong  here." 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said  meditatively. 
F  65 


66  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  Oh  no,  you  don't,"  she  retorted.  "  You're  just 
—  well,  like  the  other  people  one  meets.  But  you 
must  be  able  to  explain.  Why  do  they  talk  like  that  ? 
Your  uncle  was  really  quite  serious  when  he  said 
that  people  who  went  to  one  kind  of  church  were 
more  honest  than  people  who  went  to  another." 

"  Protestant  nature  isn't  Catholic  nature,"  he  an- 
swered, "  at  least,  not  in  Ireland." 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "  Do  you  be- 
lieve that  too?  Why,  people  are  what  they  are, 
surely  —  not  what  they  believe." 

"  That's  just  it.  Protestants  are  the  people  who 
rule  in  Ireland,  Catholics  are  the  people  who  are 
ruled.  That  makes  a  lot  of  difference  in  a  couple  of 
centuries.  You  don't  know  yet  how  far  away  from 
London  you  are." 

"How  do  you  mean?  Of  course  it's  old-fash- 
ioned in  a  way.  But  your  uncle,  now,  he  seems  to 
me  so  charming,  and  so  perfectly  abreast  of  things, 
and  so  tolerant ;  and  yet,  in  a  way,  he  talks  as  if  he 
was  more  intolerant  than  the  most  ignorant  person 
I  ever  met." 

He  htighed.  "  Shall  I  expound  ?  It's  at  your 
peril." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  want  to  know." 

"  The  colonel  is  the  most  perfectly  just  and 
humane  man  to  every  individual  that  he  comes 
across.  He  knows  an  honest  man,  and  he  knows 
a  rogue,  no  matter  about  their  religion.  But,  in 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  67 

the  abstract,  he's  perfectly  unjust  and  hardly  hu- 
mane. All  the  things  that  have  been  done  in  this 
country,  which  you  would  think  the  most  elementary 
justice,  seem  to  him  black  injustice  and  robbery. 
They  upset  the  order  that  he  was  bred  in.  He 
has  been  used  to  governing,  and  the  only  justifica- 
tion for  that  was  that  other  people  who  had  no  say 
in  governing  were  not  fit  to  be  trusted.  And  so, 
theoretically,  he  distrusts  them.  He  is  convinced 
that  all  Catholics  and  all  Nationalists  would  rob 
him  of  his  last  penny  if  they  had  the  power,  al- 
though he  knows  in  private  life  that  they  are  decent 
people  like  any  one  else.  He  belongs  to  the  feudal 
times,  or  something  very  like  them." 

"  I  didn't  know  there  were  people  like  that,"  said 
Millicent.  "  But  it  must  be  frightfully  hard  to  feel 
things  crumbling  all  about  you.  Still,  I  don't  un- 
derstand. I  thought  all  Irish  people  were  enthusi- 
astic about  Ireland,  but  he  says  hard  things  about 
the  Irish." 

"  If  you  go  and  tell  the  colonel  that  the  Irish 
are  a  mean,  servile,  ignorant  race,  perfectly  unfit 
for  the  institutions  that  exist  in  a  civilized  country 
like  England  —  well,  of  course,  he  will  be  civil  to 
you,  as  he  would  be  to  anybody,  but  he  wouldn't 
like  it." 

"  But  who  says  anything  of  the  kind  ?  "  Millicent 
broke  in  indignantly. 

"  Well,  just  that  assumption  underlies  everything 


68  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

the  colonel  says  to  you  about  Ireland  in  the  abstract. 
He  can't  help  being  himself,  fortunately;  but  he 
can't  help  having  the  opinions  of  his  class." 

He  pulled  up  short.  She  was  looking  at  him  now 
with  a  perceptible  shade  of  mockery  in  her  glance. 

"  Well?  "  he  asked,  in  reply  to  it. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  You're  very  wise.  But,  hasn't 
Colonel  Lisle  lived  here  a  good  deal  more  than 
you  ?  " 

Frank  answered,  with  a  touch  of  heat,  "  He  has. 
And  he  has  lived  out  his  life  in  an  order  of  things 
that  is  dead  and  done  with.  England  has  sent  us 
over  another  order,  ready-made.  Well,  if  we  are  to 
work  under  it  at  all,  we  must  accept  the  supposition 
it  rests  on." 

"But  where  is  your  new  order?"  she  asked. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  You're  going  to  see  it,"  he  said,  as  they  came 
to  the  long  wall  in  among  the  trees,  and  he  opened 
the  door  leading  in.  "  Conroy  stands  for  the  new 
order." 

The  door  opened  on  such  a  garden  as  Millicent 
had  never  seen.  Fir  trees,  quarter  of  a  mile  off, 
marked  what  must  be  the  end  of  it,  but  she  could 
see  no  limit.  The  wall  ran  from  her  to  left  and 
right,  and  along  the  wall  was  a  deep  border  of 
flowers;  everywhere  trees  backed  the  wall,  and  in 
the  border  tall  white  lilies  stood  up  in  rows,  and 
phloxes  and  Canterbury  bells.  In  the  middle  was 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  69 

an  endless  fruit  garden  —  orchard,  raspberry  beds, 
kitchen  beds,  all  in  admired  confusion;  innumerable 
currant  and  gooseberry  bushes;  the  eye  wandered 
over  a  fine  disorder. 

"  What  an  immense  place,"  said  Millicent;  "  and 
oh !  what  lilies.  But  where  is  the  new  order  ?  " 

"  Among  the  beehives,"  said  Frank,  turning  to 
the  right,  "  and  beyond  the  strawberries." 

"  Tell  me  about  him,  quick." 

"  Conroy  is  a  Gaelic-speaking  peasant  out  of  the 
west  of  the  country.  He  was  a  school-master,  with 
a  passion  for  bee-keeping,  and  he  used  to  take 
prizes.  When  they  were  looking  for  instructors 
to  develop  cottage  industries,  he  applied  to  be  taken 
on,  and  now  he  spends  his  time  going  about  en- 
couraging people  to  start  bees,  and  telling  them 
how  to  manage  them.  One  of  the  poorest  baronies 
here  is  paying  its  rents  almost  entirely  with  honey." 

"  Honey  and  wax  —  sweetness  and  light,"  she 
quoted.  "  The  new  order  comes  with  good  things. 
But  surely  Colonel  Lisle  would  have  no  objection 
to  people  who  make  honey  and  pay  rent." 

Frank  laughed.  "  Conroy  is  employed  by  a 
County  Council,  and  County  Councils  are  anathema. 
But  he  brings  more  sweetness  and  light  than  you 
think  for.  That  is  why  I  wanted  you  to  meet  him. 
He's  a  mystic,  a  seer  of  visions;  he  sees  the  gods 
walking  in  their  liss." 

"  Oh,  what  is  a  liss  ?  and  what  sort  of  gods  ?  " 


70  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  You  must  ask  him/'  he  said.    "  Here  he  is." 

Along  the  south  face  of  the  wall  was  a  long  row 
of  yellow  straw-covered  beehives,  golden  now  in 
the  sloping  sun.  And  there  stood  a  tall  young  man 
stooping  over  a  new  hive  of  the  modern  pattern,  a 
square  black  box  set  on  four  legs. 

Frank  hailed  him  from  far  off.  "  Good  evening, 
Mr.  Conroy.  Is  it  safe  to  come  near  you  ?  " 

Mr.  Conroy  turned  towards  them  with  a  notice- 
able slowness  and  deliberation  of  movement. 

"  You  had  better  not,  sir.  They  are  a  bit  unsettled 
yet,  and  if  a  person  was  not  quite  easy  with  them, 
they  might  hurt  him." 

"  What  is  it  you're  doing  with  the  hives  ?  "  Frank 
called  to  him. 

Conroy  came  towards  them,  picking  his  way 
through  the  strawberry  beds,  and,  as  he  came,  Mil- 
licent  saw  a  close-shaven  face,  singularly  calm  and 
expressionless. 

"  There  were  three  times  too  many  hives,"  he 
said,  "  and  not  one  of  them  strong  enough  to  do 
the  work.  They  have  got  to  be  put  into  new 
skeps." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  bees  working,  Miss  Car- 
teret  ?  "  Frank  asked,  turning  to  Millicent.  '"  It's 
curious.  This  is  Miss  Carteret,  Mr.  Conroy,  an 
English  lady  who  is  staying  over  here." 

"  But,  Mr.  Conroy,"  said  Millicent,  "  why  must 
you  do  away  with  all  those  beautiful  old  hives? 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  71 

They  are  much  nicer  to  look  at  than  that  black 
box." 

"  I  often  hear  English  ladies  and  gentlemen  say- 
ing the  same  about  the  houses,"  he  answered. 
"  They  tell  me  there's  nothing  so  picturesque  as  a 
cabin  when  the  thatch  has  gone  a  bit  green,  and  the 
walls  are  out  of  the  plumb.  Sanitary  inspectors 
tell  you  another  story." 

"  That's  quite  true,"  Millicent  answered.  "  That 
new  hive  of  yours  is  just  like  the  little  ugly  cot- 
tages along  the  road.  I  liked  the  thatched  ones 
much  better.  But  do  beehives  need  sanitary  in- 
spectors? " 

"  Certainly,  miss.  Indeed,  the  chief  fault  in  their 
hives  is  just  the  bad  ventilation.  The  creatures  do 
their  best  to  fan  air  in,  but  they  aren't  strong 
enough." 

"  Come,  now,"  said  Frank,  laughing,  "  isn't  that 
rather  steep  ?  " 

"  It's  a  well-known  fact,  sir.  If  you  were  to 
come  here  any  damp  warm  day,  you  would  always 
see  two  or  three  of  them  there  in  the  door  of  the 
hive,  fanning  away  with  their  wings.  They  do  it 
in  any  hive,  but  in  a  bad  one  the  air  can't  get 
through." 

"  What  a  lovely  notion,"  said  Millicent.  "  But 
I  don't  quite  believe  —  " 

"  The  most  of  my  time  goes  in  telling  people 
things  they  don't  believe,"  Conroy  answered  gravely. 


72  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  But  do  you  make  them  believe  ?  " 

"  Some  of  them  are  too  wise  to  learn,"  he  said, 
with  a  grave  smile. 

"  That's  a  gibe  at  me,  Miss  Carteret,"  said  Frank. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  never  can  quite  admit  that  you  can 
learn  to  see  what  is  invisible." 

"  I'm  sure  you're  not  putting  that  fairly.  Is  he, 
Mr.  Conroy?  I'm  never  too  wise  to  learn,  tell 
me." 

"  You're  quite  right,  Miss  Carteret.  Mr.  Nor- 
man has  no  will  to  see.  He  could  never  learn,  be- 
cause he  would  not  let  himself  see." 

"  But  what  is  it  Mr.  Norman  won't  let  himself 
see?" 

"  No,  Miss  Carteret,"  Frank  struck  in,  "  I  won't 
have  my  limitations  shown  off.  But  there  was  a 
question  you  wanted  an  answer  to.  Mr.  Conroy 
can  tell  you,  if  anybody  can,  why  the  people  don't 
like  having  their  portraits  painted." 

"  Will  you,  Mr.  Conroy?  "  she  asked. 

The  grey  face  relaxed  a  little. 

"  I  could  tell  you,  miss ;  but  they  don't  know 
themselves.  It's  only  part  of  the  tradition  that  they 
keep  out  of  the  old  knowledge.  Here  and  there  you 
would  find  an  old  man  that  would  tell  you  that  he 
would  not  like  the  likeness  of  himself  to  go  out  of 
his  own  keeping." 

"  And  why  in  the  world  not  ?  " 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  7,3 

"  Because  some  harm  might  happen  to  it." 

"  And  would  that  do  him  any  harm  ?  " 

"  He  thinks  it  would,  miss." 

"  What  an  extraordinary  superstition !  " 

"  Asking  your  pardon,  Miss  Carteret,  I  wouldn't 
be  sure  that  you  haven't  the  very  same  belief.  Did 
you  ever  hear  that  it  was  unlucky  to  break  a  looking- 
glass?" 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  said  Millicent.  "  I  broke  one 
once,  and  I  was  miserable  for  ever  so  long  when- 
ever I  remembered  it." 

"  I  know,"  said  Frank,  "  you  cling  to  your  super- 
stitions because  they  are  picturesque,  just  as  people 
in  dining  clubs  keep  up  all  sorts  of  absurd  ceremo- 
nies. On  your  honour,  now,  do  you  believe  a  word 
of  it  ?  It  didn't  really  make  you  uncomfortable !  " 

"  Yes,  it  did.  I'm  certain  it  did.  And  it  would 
be  horrid  not  to  have  superstitions  as  well  as  the 
country  people.  I  hate  people  who  are  so  dreadfully 
rational." 

"  There's  a  difference,  Miss  Carteret,"  said  Con- 
roy,  gravely.  "  Theirs  are  not  superstitions ;  they 
are  beliefs." 

"  But,  Mr.  Conroy,  you  say  yourself  they  can't 
give  any  reason." 

"  They  believe  what  their  fathers  believed,  and 
they  believe  that  their  fathers  knew  a  reason." 

"  I  don't  think  that's  a  reason  at  all,"  said  Milli- 
cent. "  People  who  go  on  believing  just  what  their 


74  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

fathers  believed  might  as  well  be  dead.  Surely 
we've  got  to  find  out  things  for  ourselves." 

"There  you  have  it,  Mr.  Conroy,"  said  Frank; 
"  that's  the  orthodox  creed  of  the  unorthodox  now- 
adays. And  if  you  can  give  Miss  Carteret  a  reason 
for  believing  what  she  plays  at  believing,  she'll  be 
grateful  to  you  for  ever." 

"  That  isn't  fair,"  retorted  Millicent.  "  I  don't 
play  at  believing.  One  has  a  vague  kind  of  belief. 
It's  in  your  bones,  I  suppose.  But  every  one  believes 
in  luck,  and  in  things  that  are  lucky  or  unlucky." 

Conroy  smiled.  "  The  truth  is,  Miss  Carteret," 
he  said,  "  you're  believing  just  the  same  thing  as 
the  country  people  about  the  pictures.  What  is 
counted  unlucky  isn't  the  injury  to  the  glass,  but 
the  hurting  of  the  image  that  has  been  in  the  glass. 
Only  people  have  forgotten  the  reason,  since  they 
forgot  the  old  knowledge." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Millicent.  "What 
old  knowledge?" 

Conroy  hesitated  for  a  little,  and  looked  at  her. 
She  was  plainly  in  earnest  with  her  desire  to  know, 
and  her  face  conquered  the  shyness  or  constraint 
that  came  of  Frank's  hostile  attitude. 

"  You  see,  miss,  there's  no  doubt  that  the  ancients 
believed  that  a  man's  reflection  in  the  water,  or  in  a 
glass,  was  a  part  of  him  —  just  like  his  hair  or  his 
nails;  and  you  could  work  on  him  by  working  on 
them." 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  75 

"  Why,"  said  Frank,  "  that's  the  belief  of  ne- 
groes ;  they  think  you  can  hurt  a  man  by  wounding 
his  shadow.  Was  the  old  knowledge  the  wisdom 
of  the  cannibal  black?  " 

Conroy  winced  a  little  under  the  contemptuous 
tone,  and  Millicent  saw  it. 

"  I  don't  think  that's  an  argument !  "  she  put  in 
hotly.  "  Negroes  are  supposed  to  do  extraordinary 
things  by  witchcraft." 

"  There's  no  doubt,"  said  Conroy,  gravely,  "  that 
the  black  man  knows  things  that  the  wisest  lawyer 
in  Ireland  has  no  glimpse  of.  But  I'm  only  telling 
Miss  Carteret  what  this  belief  about  the  bad  luck 
of  broken  glass  really  is,  and  not  what  I  hold  for 
the  truth  in  it." 

"  But  that's  just  what  I  want  to  know,"  said  Mil- 
licent. "  Will  you  tell  me  ?  " 

Conroy  hesitated  for  a  moment.    Then  he  spoke. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  it  is  makes  the  reflection 
on  the  glass,  Miss  Carteret?  —  or  you,  Mr.  Nor- 
man ?  " 

"No,  I  can't,"  said  Frank;  "but  of  course  any 
man  of  science  can." 

"  Can  he,  then?  He  can  tell  you  just  this:  that 
water  reflects  —  he  can  describe  the  laws  that  gov- 
ern reflection.  He  can  tell  you  that  there  is  some- 
thing transmitted  through  the  ether;  but  he  can't 
tell  you  what  is  transmitted." 

"Well,"  said  Frank,  "and  what  is  it  you  believe?" 


76  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  I  believe  that  through  free  air  everything  is 
giving  out  something  of  itself ;  and  that  what  strikes 
the  mirror  is  a  part  of  you,  like  your  breath,  and 
that  it  leaves  something  of  you  on  the  mirror, — 
like  the  bloom  of  a  flower  that  you  press  against 
your  hand." 

"  That  seems  to  me  rather  a  beautiful  idea,"  said 
Millicent;  "but  surely  it's  fantastic." 

"  The  greater  part  of  mankind  believe  it.  Why 
else  do  the  Easterns  shut  up  their  women,  and  veil 
them  ?  " 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  Donegal 
has  the  notions  of  the  Turks  ?  That  would  be  news 
to  most  of  us,"  retorted  Frank,  laughing.  "  And 
anyway,  it  isn't  maiden  modesty  that  would  make 
an  ugly  old  salmon  poacher  run  like  a  hare  from  a 
camera,  the  way  I've  seen  one  do  in  Connemara." 

"  He  doesn't  know  more  than  that  it  is  unlucky," 
Conroy  answered.  "  But  the  notion  at  the  back  of 
that  is  that  if  an  ill- willy  person  wants  to  do  harm 
on  you  he  has  only  to  get  something  of  yours  — 
and  a  picture  of  the  man  is  best." 

"To  work  spells  with?"  asked  Millicent. 

"  That's  the  notion,  miss." 

"  But,  truthfully  now,  Mr.  Conroy,  do  you  be- 
lieve that  by  saying  charms  over  an  image,  or  roast- 
ing it  by  a  slow  fire,  or  sticking  pins  in  its  heart, 
one  person  can  hurt  another?  " 

"  It's  not  as  simple  as  you  think,  Miss  Carteret. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  77 

But  the  powers  of  the  air  have  powers  on  the  lives 
of  men,  and  the  powers  of  the  air  can  be  brought 
under  man's  science." 

Frank  listened  with  growing  impatience.  "  It 
seems  to  me,"  he  broke  in,  "  that  your  modern  mys- 
ticism aspires  to  the  culture  of  the  African  savage." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Norman,"  Conroy  answered,  with 
a  touch  of  asperity,  "  if  you  asked  me  whether  was 
wiser,  the  man  who  believed  that  that  body,  shadow, 
and  reflection  were  all  part  of  one  soul,  or  the  man 
who  believes  that  soul  begins  and  ends  with  this 
body,  I  would  say  at  least  that  the  former  was  the 
less  ignorant." 

Millicent  listened  to  the  dispute  with  growing  re- 
sentment. The  generous  temper  of  her  mind  fa- 
voured the  singular  rather  than  the  normal;  and 
constructive  theories  —  even  if  they  were  such  stuff 
as  dreams  are  made  of  —  awakened  in  her  sympa- 
thies that  ranged  her  promptly  on  their  side  as 
against  the  -easy  way  of  light  scepticism.  And, 
with  a  true  woman's  instinct,  she  took  the  part  of 
the  more  sensitive  nature. 

"  I  will  tell  you  one  thing,  Mr.  Conroy,"  she 
said ;  "  when  you  are  in  earnest  over  a  thing,  and 
have  thought  of  it  a  great  deal,  you  should  never 
argue  about  it  with  a  person  who  hasn't  thought  of 
it  at  all." 

Frank  winced  a  little ;  then  he  laughed.  "  I'll  tell 
you  one  thing,  Mr.  Conroy.  You  should  never  gaff 


78  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

a  salmon  for  Miss  Carteret,  or  she  will  turn  and 
rend  you  whenever  she  gets  a  chance." 

Millicent  reddened  again  a  little.  Frank's  un- 
lucky retort  recalled  to  her  the  fact,  which  in  her 
animation  she  had  forgotten,  that  their  acquaint- 
ance was  scarcely  three  hours  old.  She  had  been 
treating  him  on  a  footing  of  established  friendship. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Conroy ;  I  was  very  grateful  to 
Mr.  Norman  before;  but  I  am  more  grateful  to  him 
for  having  brought  me  here.  I  never  heard  so 
many  interesting  things  before  in  my  life.  I  wish  I 
could  stay  and  hear  more;  but  I  must  be  going." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,"  said  Frank;  "  we  haven't  found 
you  a  strawberry  yet,  or  a  solitary  plum.  I  couldn't 
face  my  cousins,  if  you  went  empty-handed." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  must,"  she  said.  "  Margaret 
Coyle  will  be  wondering  what  on  earth  has  hap- 
pened to  me." 

"  Are  you  the  lady  that  was  coming  to  Marga- 
ret's ?  "  asked  Conroy. 

"  Oh  dear,"  said  Millicent.  "  I  have  never  found 
my  movements  known  like  this  before.  I  might 
have  been  chronicled  in  the  Morning  Post." 

"  Margaret  was  greatly  set  up  about  it,  I  can  tell 
you,  miss,"  said  Conroy,  "  to  have  English  ladies 
coming  to  stay  with  her.  She  was  telling  me  about 
it  the  other  day." 

"  Were  you  trying  to  make  Margaret  go  in  for 
bees?"  asked  Frank. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  79 

"  I  was,  indeed.  And  I  had  her  half  persuaded; 
but  she  wouldn't  decide." 

"  Oh,  but,  Mr.  Conroy,"  said  Millicent,  "  do  let 
me  help  you.  I'm  sure  I  could  persuade  Margaret. 
Won't  you  come  over  and  talk  to  her  when  I'm 
there?  And  I'll  back  you  up." 

"  Indeed,  then,  Miss  Carteret,  I'll  be  glad  to  do 
it." 

"  You  ought  to  bring  over  some  of  those  drawings 
you  showed  me,"  said  Frank ;  "  they  would  have  a 
double  interest  for  Miss  Carteret,  as  she's  an  artist." 

Conroy's  grey  face  took  a  little  flush.  "  I'd  be 
ashamed  to  take  up  Miss  Carteret's  time  with  them." 

"  But  do  bring  them,  Mr.  Conroy.  What  sort  of 
work  have  you  been  doing?  Have  you  had  any 
training?  And  what  do  you  mean  by  a  double  in- 
terest?" 

"  WTell,  I  showed  them  to  Mr.  Norman  because 
we  were  talking  about  things  that  I  see,  and  that  he 
doesn't  believe  I  see." 

"  I  believe  you  think  you  see  them,"  said  Frank ; 
"  but  in  the  sense  that  I  see  you  now,  I  don't  believe 
there  is  anything  to  see." 

"Do  you  see  ghosts,  Mr.  Conroy?  I  wish  I 
could  see  ghosts;  but  I'm  afraid  Irish  ghosts 
wouldn't  show  themselves  to  a  mere  Saxon." 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  that,  miss,"  said  Conroy,  look- 
ing at  her  intently.  "  You  would  see  more  than 
most." 


80  THE  OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  But  I've  never  seen  a  ghost,  and  I've  slept  in 
heaps  of  haunted  houses.  I  don't  believe  the  people 
who  want  to  see  them  ever  do  see  them." 

"  The  people  I  have  made  drawings  of  are  not 
ghosts,  Miss  Carteret,  at  least,  I  believe  not  —  that 
is,  I  don't  think  they  were  ever  in  flesh  and  blood." 

"  I'm  sure  they  weren't,"  said  Frank;  "  they  were 
like  Pallas  Athena,  brain-begotten.  They  lived  and 
moved  and  had  their  being  in  the  imagination  of 
Owen  Conroy." 

"  Others  than  I  saw  them  many  times,  and  knew 
them  from  my  pictures." 

Frank  only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  his  inter- 
ruption made  Millicent  impatient. 

"You  were  quite  right,  Mr.  Conroy,"  she  said; 
"  Mr.  Norman  is  too  wise  to  learn.  Come  and  show 
your  drawings  to  an  ignorant  person." 

"  That  would  not  be  the  way  of  it,  Miss  Carteret ; 
but  I  will  bring  them,  surely." 

"  Don't  forget,"  she  said,  shaking  hands.  "  Mar- 
garet will  always  know  where  to  find  me.  Now, 
Mr.  Norman,  I  must  really  go  back,  and  say  good- 
bye." 

The  great  beech  trees  leaned  out  heavy  boughs 
over  the  sun-gilded  wall  on  their  left ;  to  their  right 
was  the  tangle  of  the  fruit-garden,  and  Millicent 
walked  like  a  creature  in  a  dream.  There  was  that 
stillness  and  warmth  of  the  air  that  only  is  found  in 
a  walled  garden. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  81 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  with  a  touch  of  constraint  in 
his  tone,  "  what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

Millicent  started  a  little.  "Oh,  I  forgot.  Of 
course  Colonel  Lisle  has  never  talked  to  Mr.  Con- 
roy.  Besides,  they  are  so  different.  I  dare  say  Mr. 
Conroy  wouldn't  talk  like  that  to  him.  But  why 
does  he  call  me  '  miss  '  ?  He  wouldn't  if  I  met  him 
in  London." 

"  Do  you  want  to  transplant  him  ?  "  said  Frank. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Millicent,  earnestly,  "  he  might 
stop  being  a  real  person  then,  like  heaps  of  the  other 
geniuses.  But  he  is  a  genius,  isn't  he?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Frank,  "  I  think  so." 

"  Well,  I  won't  let  him  call  me  '  miss  '  any  more," 
said  Millicent,  reflectively. 

"  Have  you  found  a  vocation  already  among  the 
savages  ?  " 

Millicent  thought  to  herself  that  she  had  never 
known  a  young  man  with  an  equal  talent  for  saying 
the  thing  that  annoyed  her. 

"  I  don't  remember  that  I  said  anything  about 
savages,"  she  retorted  angrily  —  angry  with  Frank, 
more  angry  with  herself  for  being  angry. 

Frank  was  confused.  "  No/'  he  said,  "  of  course 
I  wasn't  serious.  It  was  only  a  stupid  way  of  put- 
ting things." 

Millicent  was  unrelenting.  "  You  know,  people 
don't  like  to  have  things  attributed  to  them  that 
they  don't  mean.  I  don't  want  to  condescend  to 


82  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

Mr.  Conroy.  If  anybody  ought  to  condescend,  it 
isn't  you  or  I.  And  I  don't  believe  he  would  have 
called  me  '  miss/  only  that  you  were  there,  and  you 
bring  silly  class  notions  along  with  you.  If  he 
calls  you  '  sir/  of  course  he  would  call  me  '  miss.'  " 

Frank  was  nettled.  "  Be  a  little  fair.  You  don't 
suppose  I  want  him  to.  One  tries  to  avoid  friction 
as  much  as  possible.  He  couldn't  be  natural  and 
call  me  Norman;  it's  against  all  his  bringing  up. 
And  so  I  call  him  Mr.  Conroy.  But  you'll  allow  he 
and  I  talk  freely." 

Millicent  smiled  sweetly.  Her  unchristian  feel- 
ings disappeared  when  her  desire  to  strike  had  been 
gratified. 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  were  rather  intolerable ;  but 
I'm  sure  you  would  have  been  just  as  unbearable  to 
—  to  me,  for  instance,  if  I'd  been  saying  the  same 
things." 

"  Oh,  so  long  as  you  admit  that,"  said  Frank, 
evidently  relieved  by  her  change  of  tone.  "  But  I 
don't  want  to  be  unbearable  to  anybody;  I  won't 
talk  about  those  things  again.  Look  here  "  —  they 
were  just  coming  to  the  gate  —  "  let  me  get  you 
some  flowers  before  you  go." 

Miilicent  relented  altogether.  "  No,"  she  said, 
"  I  couldn't  let  you,  really.  But  you  haven't  been 
unbearable;  you've  been  very  nice.  I've  never  had 
such  a  good  day  in  all  my  life ;  and  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  you  I  shouldn't  have  caught  a  salmon;  and  I 


THE   OLD    KNOWLEDGE  83 

shouldn't  have  met  your  uncle;  and  I  shouldn't 
have  heard  about  Mr.  Conroy's  visions.  Oh,  I 
simply  can't  bear  to  think  of  how  different  it  would 
have  been.  Just  fancy  if  I'd  lost  that  salmon !  " 

"  Well,  but,"  he  said,  "  perhaps  1  could  help  you 
to  catch  another.  Is  there  any  reason  why  I 
shouldn't  come  and  see  you  at  Lough  Drummond  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.    "  I'm  afraid  there  is." 

"  But  Conroy  is  coming." 

She  laughed  at  him  with  her  most  provoking  air. 
"  But  Mr.  Conroy  isn't  in  my  class,  you  know. 
He  calls  me  '  miss,'  and  I  am  going  to  civilize 
him." 

"  Oh,  you're  too  bad,"  he  said.  "  Well,  if  that's 
all,  may  I  come  and  row  your  boat,  miss  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  again.  "  I've  engaged 
Hughie  already;  I  couldn't  disappoint  him." 

Suddenly,  from  behind  a  great  hedge  of  sweet- 
peas  on  the  further  side  of  the  gate,  a  tiny,  black- 
clad  figure  appeared,  with  a  basket  on  her  arm. 

"  Is  that  you,  Frank?  "  said  Miss  Selina.  "  I  saw 
you  and  Miss  Carteret  in  such  conversation  with 
Conroy  that  I  thought  there  would  be  no  getting 
you  away;  so  I  just  went  and  cut  some  flowers  and 
things  for  Miss  Carteret  myself,"  she  said,  turning 
to  Millicent. 

"Oh,  Miss  Lisle,"  said  Millicent,  "it's  simply 
wicked  of  you.  You've  been  robbing  yourself  right 
and  left." 


84  THE  OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"Indeed,  then,  what  would  be  the  pleasure  of 
having  a  garden  if  you  couldn't  give  away  a  few 
flowers  and  things.  But  it's  a  bad  time  for  fruit, 
Miss  Carteret,  so  you  must  make  excuses.  I  was 
only  able  to  find  you  the  one  peach,  and  the  best 
plums  aren't  ripe  yet." 

"  I  suppose  there's  no  use  in  saying  anything," 
Millicent  answered.  "  But,  Miss  Lisle,  if  you  treat 
strangers  like  this,  what  do  you  do  for  your 
friends  ?  " 

"  We  aren't  wanting  to  make  a  stranger  of  you," 
said  the  little  lady,  with  her  soft  smile,  "  unless  you 
insist  on  it.  Here,  take  that,  Frank,"  she  said, 
handing  the  basket  to  him;  "  you  can  strap  it  on  to 
the  front  of  Miss  Carteret's  bicycle,  and  you  may 
bring  it  back  to  me  the  next  time  you're  at  the 
lough." 

A  gleam  shot  into  Frank's  eyes;  but,  warned  by 
previous  experience,  he  avoided  looking  at  Milli- 
cent. 

"  Certainly,  Cousin  Selina.  I'm  bound  to  be 
there  before  long.  The  river's  running  down  fast, 
and  the  lough's  just  coming  into  order." 

"  I  was  just  thinking  that  would  be  the  way  of 
it,"  Miss  Selina  answered;  and  it  seemed  to  Milli- 
cent that  there  was  the  faintest  possible  inflection  of 
laughter  in  her  voice,  the  least  ripple  of  a  laugh 
about  her  eyes.  But,  after  all,  if  things  were  as  nat- 
ural as  that,  why  should  she  protest  ? 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  85 

So  she  shook  hands  with  Miss  Selina,  asking 
leave  to  come  again,  and  being  told  in  the  sternest 
way  that  if  she  failed  to  do  so,  everybody  would  be 
offended  past  reconciliation;  and  she  walked  with 
Frank  up  the  long  gravelled  path  to  the  house 
among  the  great  trees  and  on  to  the  mown  lawn, 
fenced  in  among  the  green  and  russet  of  the  pas- 
ture ;  collected  her  rod  and  basket,  and  was  escorted 
down  the  avenue  which  led  out  on  to  the  road  a  few 
hundred  yards  from  the  cottage,  where  she  re- 
gained her  bicycle.  Frank  strapped  her  rod  on  for 
her,  and  adjusted  the  basket  in  front.  There  was 
no  more  said  of  another  meeting  till  just  as  she  was 
starting,  when  he  asked :  — 

"  Then  I  may  come  for  the  basket?  " 

"  Oh  yes."  Then  she  added,  as  she  shook  hands, 
with  another  flash  of  provoking  laughter,  "  I'm 
sure  Margaret  will  always  be  glad  to  give  it  you." 

Frank  watched  her  figure  as  she  crossed  the 
bridge  swiftly,  and  went  flickering  down  the  road 
beyond  it  till  the  curve  round  a  corner  of  hill  hid 
her  from  sight.  Then  he  lit  a  pipe  and  strolled 
homeward,  pondering  on  many  things :  all  the 
things  that  they  had  said  to  each  other,  and  many 
others  which  it  seemed  to  him  he  had  stupidly  for- 
gotten, and  which  he  was  wonderfully  impatient  to 
say. 

But  Millicent  was  already  far  across  the  long 
level  sweep  through  the  bog-land;  now  she  was 


86  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

sighting  the  lough,  still  and  grey  in  the  touch  of 
twilight  —  for  even  the  long  northern  day  had 
ended;  and  now  she  was  speeding  round  the  last 
corner  between  the  big  willow  trees  and  ashes  that 
grew  by  the  road;  and  now  she  turned  into  the 
little  path  with  its  clipped  hedgerows,  and  Toby 
and  Fly  were  dashing  out  with  bark  upon  bark  of 
furious  welcome.  And  there  was  Margaret,  short 
and  broad  and  genial,  appearing  at  the  door  as 
Millicent  dismounted,  flushed  with  triumph. 

"  Well,  now,  miss,  is  that  you  ?  I  was  near  send- 
ing the  boys  out  to  look  for  you ;  I  didn't  know  but 
you  might  be  drownded,  and  you  with  only  that  wee 
lock  of  sandwiches  in  your  basket." 

Millicent  was  breathless  in  her  reply.  "  Oh,  Mar- 
garet, I've  had  such  a  day,  such  a  lovely  day.  And 
I've  caught  a  salmon !  " 

"  You've  caught  a  salmon,  miss  ?  Well,  now,  if 
that  doesn't  beat  all  ?  Hughie !  John !  Where  are 
you?  Miss  Carteret  has  caught  a  salmon !  " 

At  the  sight  of  the  astonished  and  half-incredu- 
lous faces  Millicent  glowed ;  but  she  felt  a  pang  of 
regret. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  it  here  to  show  you.  But  it's 
gone  off  to  London.  Mr.  Norman  did  it  all  for  me 
—  you  know  Mr.  Norman?  " 

"  Do  I  know  Mr.  Norman,  is  it?  "  said  Margaret. 
"Sure,  I  knew  him  since  he  was  that  high ;  and  a  nice 
gentleman  he  is.  And  did  he  send  it  off  for  you  ?  " 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  87 

"  He  did  indeed,  Margaret.  And  he  gaffed  it. 
And  they  were  all  so  kind." 

"Well,  now,"  said  Margaret:  and  "Dear  oh!" 
said  Hughie:  "Where  did  you  catch  it,  miss?" 
said  John. 

"  Ah,  get  out  of  that  now,  John.  Will  ye  let 
Miss  Carteret  come  in  ?  She  must  be  fair  destroyed 
with  fatigue,  and  her  after  walking  all  day.  Come 
in,  now,  miss,  and  just  sit  down  here  by  the  fire  till 
I  wet  you  some  tea.  And  what  will  you  have  for 
your  dinner?  " 

"  Mightn't  I  have  some  of  these  trout  ?  "  said 
Millicent,  displaying  her  basket.  There  were  more 
exclamations  of  admiration  and  delight.  Then  she 
sat  by  the  fire  and  recounted  her  experiences,  while 
Margaret's  face  shone  with  delight  as  she  bustled 
back  and  forwards  with  "  Dear  oh ! "  and  "  To 
think  of  that,  now !  "  many  times  repeated. 

As  they  sat  by  the  peat  fire,  after  Millicent  had 
finished  her  dinner,  Millicent  talked  to  them  about 
Colonel  Lisle  and  the  Miss  Lisles  and  the  big  old 
house  and  the  garden ;  and  they  talked  to  her  about 
"  Mr.  Frank."  But  she  said  nothing  to  Margaret 
about  Owen  Conroy,  for  she  felt  instinctively  that 
Margaret  would  not  understand. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FRANK  was  awake  early  next  morning,  and  no 
sooner  had  he  got  to  his  window  than  he  spoke  un- 
becomingly of  the  beautiful  day.  For  the  morning 
had  set  in  irretrievably  bright;  not  with  that  glis- 
tening brilliance  that  in  Donegal  means  rain  before 
lunch,  but  with  a  calm  veiled  brightness  that  will 
grow  steadily  to  a  noonday  splendour.  And  of 
wind  there  was  not  so  much  as  could  lift  one  leaf 
on  the  great  beech  trees,  or  even  shake  the  tall  pop- 
lar down  by  the  river.  No  man  that  had  ever 
thrown  a  line  could  interpret  that  into  a  fishing  day  ; 
and,  as  for  the  lake,  the  thing  was  absurd.  As  it 
was,  he  had  been  chaffed  enough  by  the  colonel  and 
the  little  ladies ;  but  if  he  went  to  Lough  Drummond 
on  a  day  like  this,  existence  would  cease  to  be  pos- 
sible. 

But  Millicent  had  no  quarrel  with  the  sunshine. 
The  noise  of  the  fowls  outside  her  window  that 
woke  her  was  pleasant,  and  the  morning  air  was 
sweet  when  she  stepped  out  into  it,  and  Margaret's 
greeting  was  pleasant,  and  the  breakfast  had  an 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  89 

air  of  adventure,  for  did  she  not  breakfast  on  her 
own  trout?  But  sweetest  of  all  was  the  sense  of 
independence,  the  delight  and  expectation  of  days 
all  her  own.  Since  there  was  to  be  no  talk  of  fish- 
ing—  and  secretly  she  acknowledged  that  a  stiff- 
ness in  the  arms  and  shoulders  made  Hughie's 
lamentations  seem  unnecessary  —  she  would  see 
about  a  sketch;  but  first  of  all  her  fancy  was  to 
stand  about  the  door  and  watch  Margaret's  bustling 
labours. 

"  Indeed,  then,  miss,  I  think  shame  of  me  to  be 
going  about  this  way  before  you  and  not  a  shoe  on 
me.  But  I'm  terrible  troubled  with  my  feet;  they 
swell  on  me  till  I  can't  thole  a  haporth  on  them, 
and  at  nights  they  do  be  that  bad  sometimes  that 
I'd  never  stretch  side  the  whole  night.  You  never 
be  troubled  that  way,  I  suppose,  miss?" 

"Oh,  no,  Margaret!"  Then  Millicent  laughed. 
"  My  feet  never  bother  me,  except  when  I've  been 
wearing  shoes  a  size  too  small  out  of  vanity." 

"  Vanity,  miss !  I  wouldn't  even  the  like  of  that 
to  you;  no,  indeed,  now.  Sure  you  have  a  good 
right  to  be  proud  of  them  wee  feet  of  yours." 

"  They  aren't  wee  at  all,"  said  Millicent ;  "  they're 
just  ordinary." 

"  Oh  then,  they're  the  beautiful  feet,  miss ;  and 
the  lovely  hands  you  have,  too.  And  them  wee 
shoes  of  yours  with  the  buckles  on  them  —  I 
couldn't  be  tired  looking  at  them." 


90  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

Margaret  bustled  into  the  house  as  she  spoke,  and 
left  Millicent  wondering  what  article  of  her  apparel 
could  be  appropriately  bestowed  on  this  daughter 
of  Eve.  And  the  more  she  looked  at  Margaret,  as 
she  came  bustling  out  again  with  a  bucket  supported 
on  her  strong  bare  arm,  the  more  difficult  it  ap- 
peared. 

"  You  must  let  me  trim  a  hat  for  you  before  I  go, 
Margaret." 

Margaret  put  down  her  bucket. 

"  It's  too  kind  of  you,  then,  miss.  But  the  like 
of  that  never  goes  on  my  head.  Sure  what  would 
I  be  doing  with  a  hat?  Sorrow  a  foot  would  I  be 
stirring  out  of  this  but  just  to  Mass  on  a  Sunday, 
and  it's  always  the  shawl  I  wear  on  my  head  the 
way  the  whole  of  us  did  in  the  old  times.  But 
them  young  girls  now,  you  wouldn't  know  the  half 
of  them  when  you'd  see  them  going  into  Rathdrum, 
and  them  with  their  grand  feathers,  and  ribbons, 
and  jackets,  and  what  not  all." 

"  Well,  Margaret,  you're  far  wiser  than  they  are. 
There's  nothing  as  nice  as  a  shawl,  and  I  think  I'll 
get  one  myself,  and  take  to  wearing  it  the  way  I  see 
the  girls  here  do  in  the  fields.  Wouldn't  it  look 
rather  sweet  ?  " 

"  Troth,  then,  it's  the  pretty  lass  you'd  make  in 
it.  But  you'd  need  to  take  to  the  bare  feet,  too,  miss, 
and  I  doubt  you'd  hardly  stand  the  travelling.  But 
sure  there  could  be  nothing  nicer  than  that  wee 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  91 

straw  hat  you  have  on  you  this  minute.  And  isn't 
that  the  lovely  blouse.  Do  they  be  terrible  dear  in 
London,  miss  ?  " 

And  Millicent  found  herself  gradually  immersed 
in  a  description  of  the  latest  fashions,  while  Mar- 
garet punctuated  the  discourse  with  such  questions 
and  exclamations  of  "  Dear  oh !  "  and  "  Do  you  tell 
me  that?  "  all  the  while  running  in  and  out  on  some 
new  errand,  or  summoning  the  fowls  about  her 
with  her  "  Tchuck,  tchuck,  tchuckie." 

By-and-by,  Millicent  tore  herself  away  from  this 
engrossing  debate,  crossed  the  road,  and  wandered 
down  towards  the  lake.  Just  where  the  ground 
sloped  very  slightly  from  the  roadway  were  some 
meadows,  with  the  hay  up  in  small  cocks;  beyond 
them,  pasture  fields  thick  with  rushes,  evidently 
land  that  was  flooded  many  times  a  year.  She  fol- 
lowed a  rough  cart-track  and  came  to  a  gate,  which, 
like  most  gates  of  the  country,  did  not  open;  tracks 
on  the  fence  showed  the  way  round,  not  through  or 
over.  Across  the  grass  land,  where  two  or  three 
young  calves  grazed,  she  made  her  way  to  the  river, 
at  this  point  a  silent  smooth  deep  stream  flowing  in 
a  deep-cut  channel  through  the  bog-land.  There 
were  the  boats,  as  she  expected,  but  her  notions  of 
sculling  on  her  own  account  vanished  when  she  saw 
the  heavy  black  structures,  so  unlike  the  skiffs  of 
her  days  on  the  Thames.  She  followed  down  the 
river  bank  looking  at  the  yellow  water-lilies  afloat 


92  THE  OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

on  the  smooth  stream.  In  front  of  her  was  the  im- 
mense belt  of  reeds  bordering  the  lake;  nearer,  just 
on  the  river  bank,  a  little  thicket  of  scrub  willows; 
and  here,  too,  was  another  hayfield,  stretching 
towards  the  reeds.  Far  as  she  could,  she  wandered 
till  the  meadow  ended  in  a  reed  bed;  and  at  her 
feet  a  strange  unfamiliar  bird  with  swift  twist- 
ing flight,  and  a  preposterous  beak,  rose  with  an 
eerie  screech.  Then  she  stopped  and  looked  about 
her. 

The  lake  was  in  the  middle  of  a  ring  of  hills; 
south  of  it  was  only  a  wooded  shoulder  rising 
some  four  hundred  feet,  and  on  the  face  of  its  lower 
slope  stood  a  large  pleasant-looking  house.  East, 
where  she  looked  across  the  lake's  full  length,  the 
eye  stretched  out  towards  a  succession  of  more  dis- 
tant ridges,  jagged  and  irregular;  but  the  north 
shore  of  the  lake  was  the  base  of  a  mountain  that 
rose  gradually  at  first,  but  then  steeply  to  a  noble 
crest.  And  as  she  turned  westward,  she  saw  the 
long  valley  of  the  river  running  from  her,  flanked 
on  each  side  by  mountains  that  rose,  sombre  even 
in  the  sunlight,  with  all  manner  of  fantastic  out- 
lines; and  furthest  away  of  all,  there  projected 
over  the  shoulder  of  the  others  one  formidable 
peak. 

Even  in  the  sunlight  it  was  sombre;  a  grey  coun- 
try; grey  rock  everywhere  cropping  up,  and  every- 
where the  brown  of  peat,  the  purplish  brown  of 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  93 

heather.  Everywhere,  save  actually  on  the  moun- 
tains, it  was  chequered  over  with  fences  and  stone 
walls;  everywhere  dotted  thick  with  slated  roofs  or 
grey  thatch;  but  open,  but  free,  wind-swept  and 
spacious,  with  a  sense  of  leisure  in  the  soft  air. 
Millicent  propped  her  back  against  one  of  the  little 
hand-cocks,  and  rested,  gazing  up  the  valley  in 
dreamy  contemplation.  It  was  all  too  new,  too 
strange,  for  any  thought  of  paint  brushes;  her  eye 
felt  the  need  to  attune  itself  to  these  solemn  har- 
monies of  colour,  so  different  from  the  rich  crowded 
English  landscape,  with  its  cushioned  hills,  its 
poppy-mingled  corn. 

As  she  leant  there,  dreaming,  with  wide  eyes  that 
saw  and  felt  rather  the  colour  of  things  in  masses 
than  any  definite  shape,  people  mingled  themselves 
in  her  dream.  Grey  hills,  grey  rock,  grey  water; 
even  the  sunlit  hayfield  grey  through  the  green; 
why  did  they  call  this  green  Ireland?  Conroy's 
face  came  before  her,  grey  too,  though  tanned  by 
many  winds.  Grey,  lonely,  melancholy,  even  when 
a  smile  lighted  it;  was  that  the  true  face  of  the 
Gael?  Mr.  Norman  said  that,  of  the  men  and 
women  she  had  met,  he  was  nearest  the  spirit  of 
Ireland.  He  spoke  English  —  it  was  true  what 
Mr.  Norman  said  —  like  a  person  speaking  a  for- 
eign language  that  had  been  laboriously  acquired; 
he  talked  like  a  page  out  of  a  book.  The  colonel  — 
he  was  Irish  in  a  different  way  —  more  like  the  Irish 


94  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

she  had  read  of.  And  that,  Frank  Norman  said, 
was  another  stock,  the  stronger,  better  organized, 
more  prudent  race,  but  moulded  and  mitigated 
through  long  generations  of  the  same  soft  airs. 
Yes,  and  the  curious  passion  for  his  trees,  as  if  part 
of  his  life  flowed  in  their  sap ;  that  instinctive  cling- 
ing to  the  land  —  that  was  Irish  —  in  a  sense  the 
word  had  never  before  carried  to  her  understanding. 
And  Frank  Norman  himself  —  he  stood  outside  in 
a  way,  he  looked  at  them  more  or  less  as  she  might 
look;  but  still,  when  he  talked  of  the  people  of  the 
country,  he  talked  as  a  man  might  of  some  one 
he  was  in  love  with.  He  had  been  so  pleased  that 
she  had  liked  the  colonel,  so  glad  the  garden  was 
in  beauty  with  its  lilies  and  Canterbury  bells  for 
her  to  see,  so  anxious  that  she  should  not  judge 
Donegal  just  by  this  bog  about  Lough  Drum- 
mond,  so  eager  to  show  her  the  sea  and  the  cliffs. 
And  surely  it  was  Irish  to  put  yourself  out  like 
that  for  a  stranger;  for,  after  all,  of  course  men 
made  a  fuss  about  a  girl;  but  still,  he  really  had 
been  kind.  It  was  very  odd  how  you  got  to  know 
all  these  people,  and  felt  as  if  they  had  always 
been  friends.  There  were  the  little  ladies  at  Ballin- 
derry,  and  there  was  Margaret;  it  was  so  different, 
and  still  it  was  so  like.  She  was  sure  the  little 
ladies  would  be  just  as  much  interested  in  the 
fashions.  Had  not  Margaret  been  funny  ?  And  she 
fell  to  making  up  the  story  of  Margaret  and  her 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  95 

views  on  millinery,  that  she  might  tell  it  to  Frank 
Norman  when  he  came  over  for  the  basket. 

Suddenly  she  heard  steps  rounding  the  little 
willow  thicket,  and  there  was  Hughie. 

"  Margaret  sent  me  down  to  look  for  you,  Miss 
Carteret.  She  bid  me  tell  you  Mr.  Conroy  was 
here,  asking  did  you  want  to  see  him?" 

Millicent  had  already  jumped  to  her  feet,  and 
was  shaking  the  hay  from  her  skirt.  As  she  ac- 
companied Hughie  back  to  the  cottage,  she  explained 
how  she  had  met  Conroy,  and  tried  to  elicit  Hughie's 
opinion  of  him.  But  beyond  the  general  impression 
that  he  was  "  said  to  have  great  learning,"  and  was 
"  a  wonderful  one  for  the  Irish,"  she  got  at  little. 
But  she  did  arrive  at  the  fact  that  Hughie  under- 
stood and  approved  of  bees. 

She  found  Conroy  standing  outside  the  door,  as 
before,  in  bicycling  clothes,  talking  to  Margaret. 

"  I  hope  you  have  brought  the  sketches,"  she  said, 
as  she  shook  hands  with  him. 

"  I  have  so,  Miss  Carteret.  But  you  said  you 
would  help  me  to  talk  to  Miss  Coyle.  I'm  telling 
her  that  there's  no  one  in  the  country  would  do 
better  with  bees,  if  she'd  only  start  them." 

"  Indeed,  I'm  sure  you're  right,  Mr.  Conroy.  If 
a  person  can  make  butter  like  Margaret,  of  course 
they  would  have  the  loveliest  honey  too." 

"  Now,  Miss  Carteret,"  Margaret  protested,  "  it's 
trying  to  put  notions  in  my  head,  you  are.  Sure, 


96  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE' 

what  would  I  know  about  bees,  the  craythurs.  I'd 
be  feared  of  my  life  to  go  near  them.  And  the 
fowls  has  me  destroyed  already  with  running  this 
way  and  that,  and  redding  up  after  them." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  need  to  redd  up  after  the  bees, 
Margaret.  It's  just  the  one  thing  you  want  to  make 
this  cottage  perfect  —  two  or  three  nice  hives,  and 
a  jar  of  honey  in  the  kitchen." 

"  That's  the  very  thing  I  was  telling  Miss  Coyle," 
said  Conroy.  "  She's  a  lesson  to  the  country-side 
with  the  flowers  over  her  house,  and  that  trimmed 
hedge  there  she  has  in  front.  I'll  engage,  now,  you 
wouldn't  see  anything  neater  in  England." 

"  I'm  sure  you  couldn't  see  a  nicer  cottage  any- 
where," said  Millicent;  "and  then  think  of  all  the 
money  you'd  make,  Margaret.  Hughie  says  he 
knows  all  about  handling  the  hives." 

"  Oh,  sure,  them  people  in  Fanad  where  he  comes 
from  does  all  have  the  bees;  but  you  wouldn't  get 
the  like  of  that  honey  here.  But  I  never  thought, 
miss,  you  didn't  see  the  box  of  it  that  Mr.  Conroy's 
after  bringing  over  for  you.  Wait  till  I  show  you, 
now.  I  have  it  in  here  covered  up,  the  way  the 
wasps  wouldn't  get  in  at  it." 

"  Oh,  but  Mr.  Conroy  —  "  said  Millicent. 

"  It  isn't  worth  speaking  of,  Miss  Carteret.  It's 
just  some  I  had  up  for  a  sample,  to  show  Miss 
Coyle  when  I  was  explaining  to  her  about  the  way 
of  working." 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  97 

They  had  gone  in,  and  Margaret  was  uncovering 
the  exquisite  comb  with  deep  golden  liquid  in  the 
clear  white  wax  —  heather  honey,  fragrant  as 
thyme. 

"  Well,  Margaret,  if  that  won't  convince  you, 
nothing  would.  Think,  now,  how  proud  you'd  be 
with  a  comb  like  that  to  show." 

Conroy  smiled  his  grave  smile.  "  I  think,  miss, 
I  may  leave  her  to  you;  you'll  surely  have  her  per- 
suaded against  I  come  back." 

"Of  course  I  shall.  Shan't  I,  Margaret?  Say 
I  shall?" 

"  'Deed  then,  miss,  it's  little  I  could  refuse  you." 

"  There,  Mr.  Conroy.  Now,  will  you  show  me 
the  drawings,  please.  Won't  you  bring  them  in 
here?" 

Conroy  went  out  and  unstrapped  a  parcel  from 
his  bicycle,  while  Millicent  pulled  the  table  in  her 
little  room  over  to  the  window,  and  sat  down  on  the 
further  side  of  it. 

"  Put  them  here,"  she  said. 

It  was  a  strange  picture  enough.  Soft  light 
streaming  through  the  window,  the  young  girl  with 
her  bright  hair  and  eager  eyes  bent  over  the  draw- 
ings :  Conroy's  tall  figure  standing  with  his  back  to 
the  half-open  door,  through  which  sounds  came  of 
Margaret's  bustling  operations ;  and  on  his  face  the 
tense  look  that  comes  into  the  eyes  of  an  artist  sub- 
mitting his  work  to  be  judged. 


98  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

And  they  were  strange  pictures  that  Millicent 
looked  at.  Drawings  in  a  light  wash  of  water- 
colour,  a  few  tints  crudely  used  —  ignorant  work: 
but  the  poverty  of  the  means  did  not  hide  the  thing 
expressed.  Here  a  face  looked  out  from  between 
two  encompassing  and  over-shadowing  wings,  its 
eyes  unearthly  bright ;  there,  passing  in  flight,  were 
wonderful  winged  creatures;  there,  again,  a  figure 
rudely  drawn  with  a  curious  luminosity  at  the 
finger  tips,  red  on  one  hand,  blue  on  the  other. 
Vaporous  all  of  them,  vague  in  their  draperies,  and 
yet  with  the  vivid  suggestion  of  actual  presences; 
of  something  positively  seen.  Here,  again,  were 
studies  of  a  man,  talking,  it  seemed :  but  his  arms, 
raised  in  gesture,  obeyed  the  lines  of  strange  curves 
indicated  sweeping  round  him ;  and  here  was  a  face 
just  outlined,  with  rapt  eyes  shining  out  from  under 
a  brow  so  placid  that  it  made  the  eyes  more  uncanny 
than  before.  It  was  uncannily  familiar  to  her,  like 
something  half  remembered.  Millicent  looked  up  to 
question,  and  she  saw  the  same  eyes  fixed  upon 
her. 

In  a  moment,  in  a  flash,  they  had  changed  —  they 
were  as  before,  grey,  courteous,  and  inscrutable.  It 
made  her  feel  uneasy,  this  look  of  vision,  of  sight 
other  than  the  bodily.  For  a  moment  she  could 
not  control  a  movement  of  aversion  —  an  impulse 
to  question  the  sanity  both  of  the  work  and  of  the 
man. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  99 

"These  are  wonderful  imaginations  of  yours," 
she  said ;  and  she  was  vaguely  conscious  of  an 
undercurrent  in  her  voice  that  turned  the  common- 
place remark  into  a  stricture. 

"  I  would  not  call  them  imaginations,"  he 
answered,  replying  rather  to  the  tone  than  the 
words.  "  These  are  the  things  I  see,  that  is  all. 
Others  see  the  like  of  them ;  but  they  have  not  learnt 
to  draw  what  they  see." 

His  words  were  very  quiet,  and  yet  insistent, 
and  his  face  had  relapsed  into  its  curious  passivity 
—  the  attitude  of  a  mind  long  accustomed  to  such 
opposition  as  her  tone  had  expressed.  Yet,  even 
in  his  quiet  acceptance  of  her  lack  of  comprehension, 
there  was  a  touch  of  pathos  that  weighed  upon  her. 
The  man  was  plainly  distressed,  or  at  the  least, 
disappointed,  and  she  grew  anxious  that  he  should 
not  be  disappointed  in  her.  The  chord  of  human 
sympathy  was  touched,  and  she  forgot  her  momen- 
tary dislike  of  a  talent  so  uncanny,  so  inhuman. 
Once  that  had  vanished,  the  awakening  of  her 
interest  came  with  no  doubtful  intimation.  For, 
however  it  came  into  being,  the  quality  of  the  work 
was  to  her  indisputable.  Whatever  the  faculty,  it 
was  no  common  faculty  that  saw  unearthly  things 
with  that  astonishing  intensity  and  completeness  of 
vision.  And  his  face,  lonely  as  a  rock  on  the 
mountain  side,  appealed  to  her  curiously.  In  a  flash 
of  sympathy,  the  sense  came  to  her  that  these  sym- 


ioo  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

bols  stood  to  him  for  an  infinite  deal;  that  they 
spoke  a  language  which  had  never  been  understood. 
And  it  was  for  her  to  understand  it. 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  know  what  you  mean," 
she  said  softly.  "  I  only  know  that  you  seem  to 
have  done  what  all  artists  are  trying  to  do  —  to 
create  something.  These  drawings  have  life  in 
them,  and  they  are  beautiful." 

His  face  flushed  and  lit  up.  "  It's  hard  for  me  to 
believe  that,  miss.  They're  rough  things.  I  had 
no  teaching." 

"Of  course  not.  One  sees  that.  But  they've  got 
the  quality  that  matters.  They're  your  own  —  seen 
in  your  own  way.  But  tell  me  what  you  mean  about 
other  people  seeing  them.  How  can  you  know? 
No  one  else  makes  pictures  like  these." 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  but  there's  always  speech  to  tell 
of  what  a  man  sees.  And  some  of  the  old  folk  that 
use  the  Irish  might  seem  ignorant  to  you,  but  in 
their  own  tongue  their  words  are  as  good  as  pic- 
tures. Besides  —  here's  how  I  know." 

He  turned  over  the  drawings  till  he  came  to  a 
vague  floating  figure  of  a  woman,  in  a  long  flowing 
robe  of  white,  embroidered  with  green,  and  looped 
into  a  fold  with  a  gold  brooch  of  the  ancient  Irish 
pattern.  Her  long  hair  was  braided,  and  fell  over 
her  shoulders  in  heavy  plaits. 

"  I  had  that  standing  in  my  room  one  day  where 
I  was  lodging,  and  a  servant-girl  came  in.  I  did 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  101 

not  know  before  where  she  came  from.  She  had 
been  long  in  service.  And  the  minute  she  saw  it, 
she  ran  over  to  look  closer.  Then  she  turned  to 
me  and  said,  '  That's  the  queen,  where  did  you 
get  the  picture  of  her  ? '  And  I  asked  her,  '  What 
queen  ? '  '  Oh,  it  was  always  the  queen  we  called 
her,  down  in  the  Rosses/  Then  she  told  me  how 
she  used  always  to  be  seeing  that  figure  when  she 
was  a  young  girl,  out  on  the  moors,  in  the  west  of 
the  country." 

Millicent  saw  with  inward  exultation  that  he  was 
beginning  to  speak  with  a  new  freedom. 

"  But,  who  was  she,  then,  this  queen  ?  "  she  asked ; 
"  and  when  did  you  see  her  ?  " 

"  I  saw  her  in  many  places,  when  I  would  be 
away  up  in  the  mountains,  the  same  way  as  I  saw  the 
rest  of  them,  but  always  in  some  lonely  place.  It 
was  there  I  mostly  saw  them  best,  where  the  face 
of  the  country  has  not  been  made  strange  to  them 
by  the  work  of  man.  When  it  has  been,  they  walk 
in  a  world  of  their  own;  and  you  must  lose  the 
things  under  your  eyes  —  hedges,  and  trees,  and 
maybe  houses  —  before  you  can  see.  But  out  there, 
in  the  valley  clefts  that  face  out  on  to  the  sea,  and  on 
the  bare  mountain  sides,  they  pass  walking  before 
you ;  and  it  is  easier  to  see." 

Millicent  listened  in  rapt  attention;  but  there 
grew  up  in  her  mind,  as  it  were,  a  surprise  that  she 
felt  no  surprise.  His  eyes  still  looking  steadily  at 


102  THE   OLD  KNOWLEDGE 

her,  he  seemed  fully  of  her  world,  and  he  spoke  m 
an  ordinary  voice  of  things  that  belonged  to  a  land 
of  dreams. 

"But  who  are  they?  You  don't  tell  me.  Are 
they  the  dead  that  you  see  ?  Do  they  speak  to  you  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Never  to  me.  They  are  said  to  have  spoken  to 
others.  And  I  do  not  think  they  ever  died.  You 
see,"  he  said,  and  he  pointed  to  the  drawings,  "  some 
of  them  have  shapes  that  never  were  on  earth  —  on 
this  earth  that  we  see.  I  do  not  know  what  they 
are.  But  I  think,"  he  went  on  —  "I  don't  know 
will  it  seem  foolishness  to  you  —  I  think  they 
might,  maybe,  be  the  old  gods  that  grew  out  of  the 
country,  or  that  the  people  made  for  themselves  out 
of  their  long  thoughts  and  desires." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  kind  of  anxious  chal- 
lenge, as  if  in  fear  of  her  laughter.  But  the  girl 
was  too  much  moved  to  laugh.  His  mood  had 
power  cm  her,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  lost  all 
sense  of  strangeness  in  his  talk  —  as  if  he  told  of 
some  land  foreign,  but  not  unnatural. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered ;  "  this  is  all 
wonderful.  Tell  me  more.  Do  they  take  notice  of 
you?" 

"  None.  They  go  on  their  way,  sometimes  to- 
gether, oftener  alone." 

"  But  do  you  never  see  the  people  that  have  died, 
and  come  back  to  where  they  have  lived  —  people 


THE  OLD  KNOWLEDGE  HQ 

that  can  be  recognized?  Do  yoa  not  believe  they 
can  be  seen?"* 

"  I  never  saw  them  myself."  he  answered :  tt  but 
there  are  many  who  have,  of  course.  Men  see 

according  to  their  nature,  and  those  who  have  the 
vision,  but  live  mostly  in  the  present,  see  what 
touches  the  present.  I  always  saw  the  same  sort 
of  things  I  see  now  ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  and  did 
not  know  that  everybody  did  not  see  them.  The 
only  difference  is  that,  since  I  have  studied  the  old 
knowledge,  I  can  see  them  more  at  will." 

Millicent  smiled  and  shook  her  head.  **  Mr. 
Conroy.  you  talk  to  me  as  if  I  understood:  but  I 
don't,  \\~hat  is  the  old  knowledge?  Some  sort  of 
enchantment  ?  " 

He  smiled  his  rare  grave  smile.  "  The  old 
knowledge  is  a  thing  you  get  more  by  a  discipline 
of  the  will  than  anything  else.  It  is  a  discipline  of 
the  body  too,  and  a  study  of  the  powers  that  are  in 
certain  signs." 

"Do  you  mean  it  is  something  that  everybody 
can  learn,  or  only  those  who  have  powers  that  the 
rest  have  not  ?  " 

"  Surely."  he  answered,  "  I  mean  that  every  one 
can  learn;  only  it  comes  easier  to  some  than  to 
others,  and  some  will  never  get  far.  But  all  should 
try." 

Again  Millicent  shook  her  head.  "  I  believe  in 
things  coming  by  nature.  You  are  developing  what 


104  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

was  natural  to  you.  You  were  born  to  see  visions 
and  to  paint  them.  What  appeals  to  me  is  the 
common  life  —  the  life  I  live  and  that  people  live 
about  me." 

"  Ah,"  he  answered  earnestly,  "  but  if  once  you 
had  learnt  to  see,  you  would  realize  how  much  finer 
a  thing  life  is  when  you  have  learnt  —  just  as  a 
spectacle.  And  then  —  beyond  the  spectacle  — 
there  surely  ought  to  be  a  power  —  " 

"  Asking  your  pardon,  Miss  Carteret,  but  would 
you  like  your  potatoes  peeled  and  crisped,  or  will  I 
give  them  to  you  in  their  coats  just  the  way  they 
are?" 

Margaret  stood,  a  genial  figure,  filling  the  door- 
way, and  Toby,  at  the  mention  of  dinner,  slunk  up 
beside  her  with  a  sentimental  request  in  his  eyes. 
Millicent  felt  as  if  she  had  been  suddenly  awakened. 
As  for  Conroy,  his  face  settled  back  into  its  grey- 
ness,  like  a  granite  rock  when  the  sun  leaves  it; 
there  was  no  change,  only  a  transfiguration. 

.  "Oh,  Margaret,  I  had  forgotten.  Whichever 
way  you  like.  They  were  lovely  last  night.  But 
wait  five  minutes ;  I  haven't  finished  yet  looking  at 
Mr.  Conroy's  pictures." 

"  Very  well,  miss,"  said  Margaret ;  "  but  sure  I 
thought  you'd  be  hungry,  you  that's  not  used  to 
being  out  in  the  air  all  day.  Give  a  call  on  me 
whenever  you're  ready."  And  she  bustled  off,  pad- 
ding on  the  clay  floor  with  her  broad  bare  feet. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  105 

Conroy  looked  a  little  confused.  "  I  ought  to 
beg  your  pardon,  miss,  for  taking  up  so  much  of 
your  time.  It  was  thoughtless  of  me." 

Millicent  flushed.  The  change  of  tone  distressed 
her,  and  she  felt  it  needed  courage  to  protest.  "  I 
only  wish  I  wasn't  afraid  of  hurting  Margaret's 
feelings  by  putting  off  dinner,  Mr.  Conroy.  I  hope 
you  won't  let  me  be  disappointed  altogether.  There 
are  so  many  things  to  ask.  Will  you  come  again  ?  " 

"  Surely,  Miss  Carteret,"  he  said,  and  a  little  of 
the  light  came  back  into  his  grave  face. 

"  And  will  you  forgive  me  if  I  ask  one  thing. 
Please  don't  call  me  '  miss/  It's  the  only  Irish  habit 
I  don't  like.  It's  different  with  Margaret.  But  I 
don't  like  it  from  you.  Is  that  settled  ?  "  She  had 
flushed  very  red,  and  was  looking  anxiously  at  his 
drawings.  His  face  had  sunk  back  into  its  coldness 
at  the  little  criticism.  She  went  on  quickly  without 
giving  him  time  to  answer.  "  About  the  drawings 
—  we  haven't  talked  really  about  the  drawings. 
You  know  they're  wonderful.  And  it  seems  an 
impertinence  to  say  anything.  Only  there  seem  to 
be  a  lot  of  things,  about  mixing  colours  and  per- 
spective and  so  on,  that  any  trained  student  could 
tell  you.  Will  you  let  me  try?  It  would  be  a  great 
honour.  Will  you  leave  the  drawings  with  me,  and 
come  again  when  you  can  ?  " 

He  was  quite  silent,  and  she  feared  she  had 
wounded  him. 


io6  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  You  aren't  vexed  with  me  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  can't 
tell  you  how  presumptuous  it  seems  to  me.  It's 
only  about  miserable  technical  details  that  I  want 
to  preach  to  you,  and  you  —  you  have  been  mak- 
ing me  guess  at  thoughts  such  as  I  never  dreamt 
of." 

"  'Tis  not  that,"  he  answered,  almost  roughly. 
"  Miss  Carteret,  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you. 
You  that  live  in  the  centre  of  things  can't  under- 
stand how  doubtful  a  person  is  of  his  lonely 
thoughts." 

"  They  couldn't  be  what  they  are,  if  they  were 
not  lonely  thoughts,"  she  said,  with  a  glow  of  en- 
thusiasm in  her  voice. 

"  And  that's  true,"  he  replied  gravely,  almost,  it 
seemed  to  her,  with  resignation.  "  But  a  man  gets 
weary  of  his  loneliness."  Then  his  tone  changed 
suddenly,  and  he  looked  at  her  with  eyes  shining. 
"  You  don't  know  what  this  day  has  been  to  me, 
Miss  Carteret." 

A  great  compassion  rose  up  in  her  face.  "  When 
you  are  lonely,  come  and  see  me,"  she  said  simply. 
But  it  seemed  to  her  that  sleeping  faculties  had 
suddenly  wakened  in  her.  Never  before  had  she 
known  the  woman's  craving  to  give  her  sympathy, 
to  feel  her  power  of  giving  in  the  only  almsgift 
that  ministers  both  to  the  giver  and  receiver.  Her 
nature  was  quick  in  response  to  any  form  of  intel- 
lectual life,  and  she  felt  with  a  sharp  pain  the  dispro- 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  107 

portion  between  this  man's  gift  and  its  recompense. 
She  would  give  with  both  hands  the  tribute  that 
was  its  due.  Beyond  that,  she  did  not  look.  There 
was  enough  in  her  of  the  artist  to  realize  the  artist's 
hunger  for  comprehension,  his  longing  for  some 
echo  to  his  own  emotion.  Here,  plainly,  was  an 
artist  who  had  never  known  the  answering  thrill, 
the  evidence  of  his  own  transmitted  power;  it  came 
to  her  like  a  vocation.  The  fascination  of  his 
strange  thoughts,  his  strange  visionary  experiences, 
the  maimed  power  and  beauty  of  his  unskilled  crea- 
tions, she  would  have  felt  like  any  other  intellectual 
influence;  but  it  was  the  man  himself  who  appealed 
to  the  passion  in  her,  the  instinct  of  sympathy.  And 
that  passion,  that  impulse  newly  awakened,  was 
still  unsatisfied.  It  was  as  if  something  had  been 
spoken  to  her  that  needed  an  answer,  and  the  word 
was  trembling  on  her  lips  but  would  not  shape  itself, 
and  with  that  answer  still  unspoken,  the  chord  still 
uncompleted,  it  was  hard  for  her  to  let  him  go. 

But  a  superior  power  intervened. 

"  May  I  have  the  table  now,  Miss  Carteret  ?  The 
chops  will  be  destroyed  if  you  keep  them  waiting  on 
you."  And  Margaret,  taking  the  law  into  her  own 
hands,  ran  back  the  table  from  the  window. 

"  Margaret,  you're  a  terrible  tyrant,"  said  Milli- 
cent,  laughing. 

"  'Deed,  then,  miss,  there's  no  sense  in  letting 
good  meat  spoil.  Mr.  Conroy,  will  you  not  stay 


io8  THE  OLD  KNOWLEDGE 

and  have  a  bite  of  something  with  me  and  the 
boys?" 

Millicent  felt  horribly  embarrassed  by  the  tacit 
assumption  that  Conroy's  place  was  not  with  her. 
But  he  showed  no  sign  of  feeling  it,  and  she  was 
thankful. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Miss  Coyle,"  he  answered.  "  I 
must  be  going.  I'm  ashamed  of  myself  keeping 
you  all  this  time  waiting  on  me.  I'm  away  down 
to  the  Carrick  side  this  evening,  and  I  won't  be 
back  for  four  or  five  days.  But  will  you  send  in 
the  cart,  and  get  the  hive  from  my  place  ?  Hughie 
can  fix  it  up;  and  when  I'm  back  I'll  bring  you  out 
a  nice  swarm.  And  then  Miss  Carteret  can  finish 
looking  at  my  drawings,  if  she  has  the  patience." 

He  shook  hands,  and,  mounting  his  bicycle,  rode 
off,  while  Margaret  tended  on  Millicent,  and  re- 
monstrated on  the  poor  dinner  she  was  making: 
though,  indeed,  by  any  less  exacting  standard  than 
Margaret's  hospitality  Millicent's  appetite  would 
have  been  found  very  sufficient.  But,  even  as 
she  sat  at  table,  her  mind  was  filled  with  new 
thoughts,  and,  after  her  meal,  she  went  back  to  her 
haystack,  and  spent  a  great  part  of  a  long  afternoon 
turning  over  the  strange  record  of  Owen  Conroy's 
visions. 


CHAPTER   IX 

IT  must  not  be  thought  that  Miss  Carteret  was  an 
undutiful  daughter.  She  dedicated  a  good  hour  of 
her  afternoon  to  the  business  of  acquainting  her 
mother  with  anything  that  Mrs.  Carteret  would 
like  to  hear.  If  there  were  any  circumstances  that 
might  seem  likely  to  ruffle  that  lady's  perfect  repose 
of  mind,  Millicent  was  too  considerate  to  mention 
them.  Naturally,  she  enlarged  upon  the  capture 
of  her  salmon,  and  found  it  an  easy  transition  to 
other  subjects.  For  instance,  to  the  Mr.  Frank 
Norman  who  had  come  up  and  landed  it  for  her. 
And  from  him  it  was  an  easy  step  to  Colonel  Lisle, 
who  had  so  kindly  arranged  for  the  sending  of  it; 
and  to  the  Miss  Lisles,  who  had  been  so  charming 
and  hospitable.  Altogether,  the  impression  to  be 
gathered  was  that  Millicent  had  fortunately  found 
a  discreet  introduction  into  the  most  steady-going 
society. 

But  that  evening,  when  the  candles  were  lit  and 
the  long  talk  over  the  fire  with  Margaret  and  her 
boys  was  ended,  Millicent  sat  down  to  her  table  and 
109 


no  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

filled  sheets  to  Kitty  Hammond  with  a  less  measured 
economy  of  facts  and  impressions.  Owen  Conroy 
filled  a  large  space  in  that  letter:  about  him  Milli- 
cent  let  herself  go.  Was  it  not  extraordinary  that 
one  should  fly  to  the  wilds  to  escape  from  studio- 
shop,  and  then  should  stumble  up,  the  very  first 
day,  against  a  person  who  was  doing  the  real  thing 
—  and  such  a  strange  kind  of  it  —  something  so 
unheard  of,  so  original.  Millicent  felt  the  joys  of 
a  discoverer  as  she  wrote :  she  knew  that  Kitty  al- 
ways scoffed  and  always  listened  —  what  more  can 
be  expected  of  a  confidante? 

As  for  Frank  Norman,  he  figured  too,  but  con- 
siderably less  to  his  advantage.  Millicent  related 
with  great  spirit  their  mutual  embarrassments,  es- 
pecially over  the  episode  with  John  Gallagher. 
"  Wasn't  it  awful  ?  "  she  commented  —  with  two 
strokes  under  the  epithet  —  for  Millicent  never  dis- 
dained to  give  a  word  that  emphasis  in  writing 
which  her  voice  was  so  well  accustomed  to  convey. 
But,  on  a  general  view  of  the  epistle,  it  seemed  to 
Kitty  Hammond,  as  she  read  and  laughed  over  it, 
a  day  or  two  later,  that  Mr.  Norman's  name  cropped 
up  in  a  good  many  places. 

"  This  is  going  to  be  the  man,"  she  observed  to 
herself;  "there  always  is  a  man.  And  the  other 
is  going  to  be  a  cult.  There  generally  is  a  cult,  but 
I  did  not  expect  her  to  start  one  in  Donegal.  And 
there  is  going  to  be  trouble.  There  always  is 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  in 

trouble.    I  wonder  if  I  shall  be  well  in  time  to  go  to 
the  rescue." 

But,  in  the  meanwhile,  the  man  whose  name 
flowed  too  readily  from  Millicent's  confidential  pen, 
was  finding  the  day  long.  It  would  have  consoled 
Frank  Norman  vastly  to  know  that  he  should  loom 
to  Miss  Kitty  Hammond's  apprehension  as  a  future 
source  of  embarrassment;  but,  then,  he  did  not 
know  it.  He  only  knew  that  the  sun  shone  relent- 
lessly, and  not  an  air  stirred  the  poplars ;  and,  more- 
over, that  by  all  likelihood  it  would  be  so  on  the 
morrow.  This  young  girl  haunted  his  imagination : 
the  sense  of  comradeship,  sprung  up  so  quickly, 
chafed  at  the  restrictions  on  their  meeting.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  whole  world  of  things  that  he  wanted 
to  talk  over  with  her.  Her  quick  and  vivid  response 
to  all  the  impressions  of  this  country  and  this  people 
that  he  loved  doubled  his  joy  of  living.  He  wanted 
to  witness  her  pleasure  in  the  soft  blue  sky  over 
mountains,  to  hear  her  speak  of  the  scent  of  Marga- 
ret's peat  fire.  She  baffled  him  with  her  mixture 
of  experience  and  shyness;  there  she  was.  lodging 
alone  in  a  strange  country,  and  yet  he  had  seen 
her  blush  and  stammer  like  a  schoolgirl  on  her  in- 
troduction to  the  colonel.  He  knew  that  she  had 
been  an  art  student;  he  knew  the  conditions  of  stu- 
dio life;  and  he  knew  also,  perfectly  well,  that  he 
must  not  make  his  way  to  Margaret's  cottage  with- 
out a  reason  that  was  not  an  excuse.  He  was  ready 


ii2  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

to  ransack  the  world  for  a  reason,  but  he  knew  bet- 
ter than  to  go  without  one.  And  all  the  while  he 
grudged  every  hour  that  this  delightful  playfellow 
spent  in  his  own  country,  and  he  not  there  to  play 
with  her. 

It  is  a  question  whether  the  two  little  ladies  saw 
Frank's  diplomacy  with  quite  his  own  admiration, 
when  at  tea-time  he  dexterously  and  —  as  it  seemed 
to  him  —  imperceptibly  led  the  conversation  to 
Miss  Carteret.  The  little  ladies  smiled  their  serene 
smile,  and  thought  it  was  unlikely  that  young  lady 
would  make  a  long  stay  at  Margaret's.  It  would  be 
all  very  well  while  she  was  new-fangled  with  it; 
but  a  few  wet  days  would  soon  put  her  out  of  con- 
ceit with  the  place,  said  Miss  Selina,  using,  in  her 
customary  way,  half  from  habit,  half  with  a  sense 
of  their  quaintness,  the  Donegal  idioms.  Frank 
repudiated  the  suggestion.  He  said  that  they  did 
not  realize  the  modern  young  lady  —  the  young 
lady  with  a  taste  for  adventure. 

"  She's  the  sort  of  girl  that  will  live  in  Paris  on 
a  franc  a  day  sooner  than  come  home,  if  she's  inter- 
ested in  what  she's  doing.  And  she'll  simply  revel 
in  Margaret's  place.  It's  a  new  experience;  and 
you  may  be  sure  Margaret  will  make  no  end  of 
a  fuss  over  her.  Of  course,  if  she  gets  bored, 
she'll  go;  but  I  don't  believe  she  will.  I'm 
sure  I  hope  she  won't,"  he  added,  with  a  touch 
of  candour. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  113 

"  It  would  be  a  dreadful  thing  to  happen, 
Frank,"  said  Miss  Cassy,  with  her  little  soft 
laugh. 

"  Oh,  terrible !  "  added  Miss  Selina. 

"  It  would  be  a  disgrace  to  the  county,  Cousin 
Selina,"  said  Frank,  seriously.  "  It  must  not  be 
allowed.  I  think  we  must  talk  to  the  colonel,  and 
see  if  he  and  you  couldn't  show  her  a  little  of  Done- 
gal before  the  fine  weather  leaves  us.  There's 
McSwyne's  castle.  I'm  sure  the  colonel  would  de- 
light in  showing  off  the  place  to  her,  and  telling  her 
all  the  old  stories  he  has  about  it." 

"  I'm  sure  that  would  be  very  nice  for  Miss  Car- 
teret  and  the  colonel,"  said  Miss  Selina.  "  You 
wouldn't  be  thinking  to  come  along  yourself,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

Frank  got  up.  "  I  should  think  it  my  plain 
duty,"  he  answered,  parrying  the  laughter  in  her 
voice.  "  And,  Cousin  Cassy,  Miss  Carteret  will 
never  know  what  a  picnic  hamper  ought  to  be  till 
she  sees  one  of  your  packing.  I'm  going  to  shoot 
the  wood-quests  that  are  destroying  your  gooseber- 
ries now." 

"  The  poor  birds !  "  said  Miss  Cassy,  with  a  final 
shaft ;  "  they  must  be  greatly  disturbed  with  the  way 
you  keep  firing  off  guns  near  them." 

Frank  went  off  well  content,  and  knowing  that 
to  suggest  a  hospitality  in  that  house  was  the  same 
as  to  issue  the  invitation;  but  knowing  also  that  it 


U4  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

took  his  uncle  and  his  cousins  some  time  to  make 
up  their  minds. 

However,  in  his  anxiety  for  his  own  ends,  he 
omitted  to  calculate  the  fact  that  the  two  little  ladies 
were,  in  their  way,  almost  as  willing  to  see  more  of 
Millicent  as  he  himself.  They  had  liked  her  —  es- 
pecially they  had  liked  her  obvious  admiration  for 
the  colonel,  whom  they  themselves  admired  and 
adored  more  than  all  the  men  in  history;  and  their 
hospitable  souls  conceived  of  her  as  rather  deplor- 
ably stranded.  She  had  told  them,  of  course,  of 
Kitty  Hammond's  involuntary  desertion,  and  they 
had  a  compassion  on  her  loneliness  which  Millicent 
was  far  from  meriting.  A  little  touch  of  curiosity 
completed  the  impulse  of  natural  kindliness,  and  at 
breakfast  next  morning  Frank,  already  resigning 
himself  to  another  day  of  disappointment,  was 
amazed  and  overjoyed  by  a  word  from  Miss  Selina. 
A  note  from  some  neighbours,  their  most  intimate 
allies,  had  come  asking  him  to  tennis  next  day; 
and  it  had  contained  a  suggestion  that  the  two  Miss 
Lisles  should  drive  over  in  the  afternoon. 

"  I  wonder,  Frank,  would  Miss  Carteret  like  to 
come  over  with  us  ?  Maybe  she  doesn't  play  tennis, 
though?" 

Frank  laboured  after  a  decent  show  of  indiffer- 
ence. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  that  matters.  She  can  play 
croquet  instead,  if  she  likes.  But,  if  she  likes  gar- 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  115 

dens,  the  Rockhill  one  is  worth  seeing.  I'd  give  her 
the  offer,  anyway.  Write  a  note,  and  I'll  ride  over 
with  it  and  bring  back  your  basket." 

So  it  came  about  that,  early  in  that  forenoon, 
Frank  Norman  was  speeding  along  the  road  towards 
Lough  Drummond.  Margaret  greeted  him  with 
effusion. 

"  An'  how  are  you,  Mr.  Norman  ?  I  was  thinking 
it  wouldn't  be  long  before  we  seen  you,  when  I 
heard  you  were  over.  But  I'm  feared  this  is  not  a 
good  day  for  the  lough." 

"  It  isn't  for  the  fishing  I  came,  Margaret.  I 
have  a  note  here  from  my  cousin  for  the  young  lady 
that's  staying  with  you." 

"  A  note  for  Miss  Carteret,  is  it  ?  Oh,  now,  Mr. 
Norman,  isn't  thon  the  lovely  young  lady?  An' 
quare  and  pleased  she'll  be  to  get  it,  for  she  couldn't 
say  enough  good  of  the  Miss  Lisles  and  the  colonel. 
An'  all  them  flowers  Miss  Lisle  gave  her,  she  has 
them  arranged  the  way  that  the  room's  a  fair  pic- 
ture to  look  at.  I  oughtn't  to  be  taking  you  in  with- 
out her  leave,  but  sure  you  might  just  peep  through 
the  door.  Come  in  now,  till  I  show  you." 

And  Margaret,  entering  the  kitchen,  opened  the 
door  into  Millicent's  room,  which  was  indeed 
strangely  transfigured  with  the  masses  of  great  red 
poppies  and  tall  spikes  of  Canterbury  bells. 

"  And  will  you  look  here  now,  Mr.  Norman," 
said  Margaret,  pointing  to  her  own  little  table, 


n6  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  nothing  would  do  her  but  I  must  have  a  bunch  of 
roses  in  here.  I  told  her  it  was  very  slavish  of  her 
to  be  taking  all  that  trouble  for  the  likes  of  me,  but 
she  be  to  do  it." 

Frank  laughed.  "  Well,  Margaret,  if  you  told  her 
that,  I  expect  you  surprised  her  a  good  deal.  Tell 
me,  now,  does  she  have  any  bother  understanding 
the  Irish  way  of  talking?" 

"  Is  it  bother  ?  Sure,  not  the  least  in  the  world, 
Master  Frank.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Norman,  I 
do  be  forgetting." 

"  Keep  on  forgetting,  Margaret,  I  like  it  better ; 
or  do  you  want  me  to  be  calling  you  Miss  Coyle? 
But,  tell  me  about  Miss  Carteret.  I  would  have 
thought  there  would  be  words  that  she  wouldn't  have 
heard  before." 

"  So  there  is,  surely,  and  now  and  then  she  passes 
a  remark  on  them ;  but  she  isn't  like  one  of  them  im- 
pudent people,  that'll  come  here  and  laugh  at  you 
till  your  face,  and  tell  you  you  don't  know  how  to 
speak  English.  There's  them' 11  do  that,  then,  and 
I  seen  myself  hard  set  not  to  forget  my  manners 
with  them.  But,  sure,  this  young  lady  doesn't  take 
on  her  the  least  in  the  world,  and  whatever  little 
thing  you'd  do  for  her,  she'll  be  as  pleased  as  pleased, 
and  always  the  kind  word  with  her  and  the  bright 
way." 

"  I  suppose  she  told  you  about  her  fish,  Marga- 
ret?" 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  117 

"  Oh,  then,  maybe  she  didn't.  But,  Master 
Frank,  wasn't  it  the  great  luck  that  you  came  up  in 
the  right  minute.  She  said  you  had  to  go  through 
the  river  after  it.  Dear  oh!  but  you  dear  bought 
it." 

"  Indeed,  then,  Margaret,  I  didn't  think  so,"  re- 
torted Frank. 

"  Well,  now,  that  was  what  Hughie  was  saying, 
that  he  would  have  faced  at  it  in  the  snow-water, 
rather  nor  see  thon  young  lady  disappointed;  and 
it  her  first  day,  and  all.  I  couldn't  tell  you,  now, 
how  glad  I  was,  Master  Frank.  But,  sure,  I'm 
keeping  you,  and  maybe,  there's  an  answer  waiting 
to  the  note.  Will  you  take  it  down  to  her  yourself, 
or  will  I  send  Hughie  with  it  ?  Miss  Carteret's  just 
away  down  there  by  the  wee  lump  of  sallies  down 
thonder  in  the  field." 

"  I'll  take  it  down  myself,"  said  Frank.  "  Is  she 
painting?  " 

"  I  think  she  is,  Master  Frank.  Dear  oh,  but 
she's  the  clever  young  lady.  Nothing  would  do  her 
last  night  but  make  a  picture  of  me,  sitting  there  by 
the  fire.  But  it's  terrible  hard  to  sit  that  way." 

"  You'd  be  always  wanting  to  lift  something  off 
the  dresser,  Margaret ;  isn't  that  it  ?  " 

"  Just  that,  Master  Frank ;  or  maybe  to  put  a 
hand  to  the  lamp.  Indeed,  then,  I  was  fair  ashamed  ; 
but  Miss  Carteret  she  did  nothing  but  laugh  and  say, 
Martha  ought  to  be  my  name  and  not  Margaret,  and 


n8  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

Martha  was  always  a  bad  sitter.  What  did  she  mean 
at  all,  Master  Frank?" 

Frank  only  laughed.  "  I'll  go  and  ask  her,  Mar- 
garet. I  suppose  I  can't  miss  her  ?  " 

Over  the  fences,  and  down  along  the  river  bank 
he  sped  quick-footed,  till  the  sight  of  a  large  sketch- 
ing-umbrella made  him  slacken.  Under  it  was  Mil- 
licent,  engrossed  in  a  study  of  silver-grey  willows, 
blue  water,  and  brown  bog-land.  She  did  not  hear 
him  coming  till  he  stood  before  her,  note  in  hand, 
thinking  it  well  to  have  in  evidence  the  reason  for 
his  coming.  Again  Millicent's  first  conscious  im- 
pulse was  one  of  fury  with  a  person  who  disturbed 
her  composure.  She  had  started  a  little,  and,  as  she 
put  it  to  herself,  turned  a  silly  crimson.  However, 
with  a  woman's  quickness,  she  perceived  in  the  same 
instant  that  Frank,  on  his  part,  was  not  less  con- 
fused, and  even  shy  —  quite  too  confused  to  notice 
her  confusion.  And  in  the  perception  came  the  con- 
scious impulse  to  forgive  him. 

In  the  meantime,  Frank,  ignorant  alike  of 
the  offence  and  the  pardon,  was  making  the  com- 
monplaces of  greeting.  Then  he  pointed  to  her 
sketch. 

"  May  one  look?  "  he  said. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  see ;  but  you  may." 

Frank  looked,  and  wisely  decided  that  of  draw- 
ings in  that  stage  it  was  best  to  say  nothing.  He  ex- 
pressed himself  to  that  effect. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  119 

"  But,  anyhow,  you  are  still  liking  it  —  all  of  it  ?  " 
he  went  on. 

"  More  every  minute." 

"  That's  all  right.  And  you  have  been  telling 
Margaret  so,  I  gather?  She  kept  me  quarter  of  an 
hour  listening  to  a  rhapsody  about  you." 

"  It  would  be  a  tragedy  if  Margaret  did  not  like 
me,"  said  Millicent,  "  for  I  have  lost  my  heart  hope- 
lessly to  her." 

"  But  you  mustn't  let  Margaret  monopolize  you. 
Here  is  a  note  from  my  cousin.  Do  try  and  do 
what  she  wants  you  to.  Will  you  read  it  ?  And  may 
I  sit  down  —  and  smoke?  " 

"  Of  course." 

He  sat  down  cross-legged  on  the  short  grass,  lit 
a  pipe,  and  settled  himself  with  infinite  contentment 
to  watch  her.  A  droll  look  of  perplexity  was  pass- 
ing over  her  face,  and  she  made  no  attempt  to  hide 
it.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  expressed  in  the  least 
suspicion  of  a  moue  —  lips  closed  tighter,  eyelids 
half  shut  over  laughing  eyes  —  when  she  turned  to 
him. 

"  It  is  awfully  kind  of  Miss  Lisle,  but  —  but  —  " 

"  Two  '  buts '  too  many,"  he  objected. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  But  —  but  —  but  —  " 
she  reaffirmed. 

"Why,  then?" 

"  Well,  this  to  begin  with.  You  know,  I  meant 
to  come  to  a  country  where  I  shouldn't  know  any 


120  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

one  but  Margaret,  nor  want  any  one  but  Margaret 
to  look  after  me." 

Frank  looked  hard  at  her.  "  Is  this  a  reproach  ?  " 
he  asked. 

She  was  a  little  taken  aback.  "  No,  no  —  of 
course  not." 

"  Quite  sure  ?  "  he  said.  "  Honour  bright  ?  Be- 
cause if  you  would  really  rather  be  let  alone,  you 
shall  be  let  alone  to  your  heart's  content,  and  no- 
body will  be  one  little  bit  offended." 

"  That  is  rather  nice  of  him,"  thought  Millicent, 
as  she  sat  on  her  campstool,  aware  that  he  was  look- 
ing at  her  with  a  friendly  scrutiny.  And  she  won- 
dered if  she  wanted  to  be  let  alone. 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  think  — "  she  began;  but  he 
interrupted. 

"  Don't  be  polite.  Look,  let  me  explain.  It  began 
between  you  and  me,  didn't  it !  We  met  in  an  odd 
sort  of  way.  I  was  awfully  keen  to  get  that  fish  for 
you.  And  now  I'm  awfully  keen  that  you  should 
have  a  good  time  here.  You  don't  want  to  be  let  in 
for  duty  visits,  of  course.  But  these  people  are 
rather  nice  people,  with  a  nice  place,  and,  you  see, 
my  cousins  thought  you  might  get  lonely  and  bored. 
I  think  I  understand  a  little  better.  I  don't  think 
you  will  get  bored  if  you  have  your  work.  Only, 
do  you  want  to  play  too?  Just  say  truly  what  you 
want  and  it  shall  be  that." 

Millicent  was  easily  accessible  to  the  kindlinesses 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  121 

of  friendship;  and  it  did  not  seem  to  her  that  she 
was  unreasonably  grateful  to  this  young  man,  who 
certainly  had  kind  eyes,  she  decided.  With  a  quick 
impulse  she  stretched  out  her  hand.  It  was  a  wo- 
man's gesture,  though,  not  a  man's  —  pretty,  gra- 
cious, a  little  imperious  in  its  condescension. 

"  You  are  a  very  nice  understanding  person,"  she 
said. 

Frank's  face  shgne,  and  he  shook  hands  in  all 
good  comradeship. 

"  That  is  very  good  of  you,  especially  as  I  don't 
understand.  Do  you  want  to  be  a  hermit  ?  Yes,  or 
no?" 

Millicent  laughed.  "Shall  I  tell  you  the  true 
truth  ?  " 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  with  a  little  inquiring  lift  of  one 
eyebrow. 

"  Well,  first  of  all,  I'm  shy." 

"  Stuff.  I've  been  shy  myself  —  ten  minutes  ago. 
But  one  gets  over  it.  You  know  one  does.  And 
the  Irwins  are  the  least  alarming  people  in  the 
world.  First  of  all  doesn't  count." 

"  Oh,  but  it  does,  though.  And,  next  of  all,  I've 
no  clothes." 

"  That's  absolutely  irrelevant,"  he  said.  "  It's  a 
tennis  party,  and  there  will  only  be  about  half  a 
dozen  people,  and  they'll  nearly  all  come  on  bicycles. 
So  I  leave  you  to  judge.  No;  all  this  is  beside 
the  mark.  You  may  say  you  will  be  a  hermit  if 


122  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

you  like,  but  you  mustn't  refuse  for  ridiculous 
reasons." 

"  Shyness  is  a  real  reason/'  she  said  seriously. 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  you  come  on  your  bicycle  to 
lunch  with  us.  You  aren't  shy  of  that.  Then  my 
cousins  get  into  the  phaeton,  and  either  you  get  in 
with  them  or  you  bicycle  over  with  me,  and  we  all 
arrive  together.  Do  come.  You  owe  me  one  for 
the  salmon." 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  said  gravely,  "  if  you  put  it  to 
me  as  a  matter  of  obligation  —  " 

"  You're  too  bad,"  he  said.  "  Well,  if  you  re- 
fuse you  must  write  a  note.  If  you  accept,  I  will  be 
content  with  a  verbal  answer.  Think  it  over.  And 
now  tell  me  about  Margaret  —  and  all  the  rest  of 
it." 

So  she  began,  and  she  told  him  about  Margaret, 
and  Margaret's  dogs  and  cats,  and  Margaret's 
churning,  and  Margaret's  curiosity,  and  Marga- 
ret's comments ;  and  then  she  mentioned  Conroy's 
visit. 

"  So  Conroy  actually  came  to  see  you.  Upon  my 
word,  you  should  be  flattered,"  he  said. 

"  I  am,"  she  retorted.  "  That  visit  was  an  hon- 
our "  —  and  she  put  enough  laughing  emphasis  on 
her  "  that  "  to  mark  a  distinction. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  bowing.  "  But,  seriously 
—  doesn't  he  impress  you  a  good  deal?  " 

"  I  should  rather  think  he  did." 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  123 

And  so  they  drifted  into  talk  of  Conroy's  draw- 
ings, and  his  visions,  and  his  fancies.  All  the  time 
Millicent  was  oddly  conscious  of  an  inner  resent- 
ment against  Frank's  easy  criticism  of  the  man  in 
whose  eyes  she  had  seen  a  new  light  kindle  —  for 
her.  And  at  the  same  time  she  was  proud  of  her 
power  to  withhold  knowledge.  She,  and  she  only 
was  in  the  secret  of  that  strange  nature ;  and  in  the 
meanwhile  it  pleased  her  to  talk  of  him  from  the 
outside  with  Frank,  as  she  talked  so  many  things  — 
she  relating  mainly,  he  interrupting  and  questioning 
—  each  keenly  interested  in  the  canvassing  of  new 
ideas,  or  the  attempt  to  catch  and  render  the  colour 
of  life,  with  that  fresh  interest  which  sits  so  pleas- 
antly upon  the  days  when  life  is  still  an  exploration, 
of  voyage  of  discovery.  And  yet  that  interchange 
of  thought  did  not  wholly  account  for  the  pleasure 
to  which  they  surrendered  themselves,  half  con- 
sciously. There  was  a  deeper  interest  to  which,  all 
the  time,  not  knowing  it,  they  were  more  keenly 
alive,  more  vividly  responsive  —  the  results,  not 
formulated,  of  a  more  instinctive  exploration,  the 
unconscious  revelation  of  themselves.  All  our 
words  are  at  best  half-defaced  symbols,  imperfect 
pictures  of  some  thought;  all  our  thoughts  have, 
with  some  slight  difference,  been  shaped  before. 
But  the  human  creature  is  a  fresh  mintage,  a  laby- 
rinth of  unexplored  possibilities,  a  new  country. 
We  see  a  little  way  into  each  other's  lives,  and  some 


i24  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

fascinate  us  at  the  first  with  a  sense  of  strangeness, 
as  the  vineyards  and  olive  groves  of  Italy  bewitch 
a  northern.  Yet  the  human  instinct  is  for  kindly 
surroundings,  and  the  true  alliance  springs  out  of  a 
sense  of  kinship,  a  rallying  to  the  same  loyalties,  a 
natural  sympathy  in  laughter  and  in  tears;  and  it  is 
when  lives  are  drawn  by  a  recognition  of  such  like- 
ness beyond  the  differences,  whether  of  sex,  or  age, 
or  circumstances,  that  there  grows  up  an  abiding 
bond. 

When  Nature's  work  is  severance,  pain  dogs  her 
feet;  she  has  balms  to  heal,  but  few  anodynes  for 
suffering,  and  her  work  is  felt  then  for  the  most 
part  in  pangs  and  spasms.  But  when  she  sets  to 
binding,  quietly  and  in  secret  she  goes  about  her 
business,  and  those  that  are  united  scarcely  know 
their  own  joy.  In  the  supreme  moments,  when  the 
man  and  the  woman  are  mated,  when  the  child  is 
wrenched  from  the  mother,  excess  of  conscious  feel- 
ing marks  or  stigmatizes  the  hour,  accentuates  the 
symbolism;  or,  again,  when  Nature's  work  is  hur- 
ried by  circumstance,  when  allegiance  is  claimed 
and  given  in  a  moment,  when  comradeship  is  pre- 
maturely forced  into  full  life,  man  must  be  aware. 
But  for  the  most  part  the  web  that  links  two  to- 
gether is  woven  while  those  who  ply  the  shuttle  of 
word  and  look  are  ignorant  of  all  but  a  vague  happi- 
ness, a  full  content;  they  embroider  into  it  an  hour 
of  sunshine,  or  of  firelight,  the  sound  of  each  other's 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  125 

voice  in  light  question  or  reply,  the  ripple  of  each 
other's  laughter;  and  they  do  not  know  that  every 
remotest  corner  of  the  whole  design  will  cry  aloud 
for  the  inevitable  echo  of  those  carelessly  struck 
harmonies. 

The  conclusion  of  the  matter  is  that  two  young 
people  sitting  near  the  bank  of  a  smooth,  slow- 
flowing  river,  blue  where  it  reflected  the  sky,  and 
brown  in  the  bank  shadow,  close  by  a  little  clump 
of  willows,  silvery  in  the  sunshine,  were  exceedingly 
inattentive  to  the  lapse  of  time.  The  sunshine  was 
within  them  as  well  as  without,  and  they  basked  in 
it  without  other  preoccupation.  Finally,  a  pang  of 
conscience  smote  Frank. 

"  Your  sketch,"  he  said.  "  Why  shouldn't  you 
go  on  ?  Do  you  mind  being  looked  at  ?  " 

Millicent  looked  across  the  river  and  laughed. 
"  I'm  afraid  the  light  is  wrong  now." 

Frank  looked  at  his  watch.  "  Heavens !  "  he 
said,  "  I've  wasted  your  morning.  And  you'll  have 
to  begin  another  canvas." 

"  Margaret  will  be  in  a  fuss  about  lunch,"  said 
Millicent;  "that's  the  only  thing  that  matters.  I 
must  go  in." 

And  so  the  morning  ended.  But  before  Frank 
left  it  was  definitely  settled  that  Millicent  should 
join  the  Ballinderry  party  next  day. 


CHAPTER  X 

FAR  away  in  the  west  of  Donegal  is  a  wild,  grey 
valley  that  looks  across  the  ocean  to  America  and 
the  setting  sun.  Ringed  about  with  mountains,  it 
lies  flat  and  spacious,  hardly  raised  above  the  level 
of  the  sea.  An  arm  of  the  Atlantic  it  should  be,  but 
for  a  strong  mole  of  rocky  hillocks,  some  two  hun- 
dred yards  in  width,  that  blocks  the  entrance,  and 
through  these  a  little  river  finds  its  tortuous  way. 
The  bar  of  rock  piled  up  with  sandhills  avails  to 
keep  the  wave  out,  but  makes  no  shelter  from  the 
wind;  and  far  to  the  landward  side  the  roads  and 
paths,  silted  up  with  blown  sand  and  sea  wrack,  tes- 
tify to  the  force  of  winter  gales.  A  bluff  front  of 
mountain  to  the  south,  to  the  north  a  headland 
fronting  the  sea  with  a  sheer  cliff  all  but  a  thousand 
feet  in  height,  mark  the  valley's  boundaries ;  and  the 
wind  striking  on  these  portals  finds  between  them 
open  passage,  and  scours  up  the  level  floor.  Trees 
are  none  in  sight,  scarce  a  bush  even;  and  into  the 
walls  of  every  cottage  are  built  projecting  stones 
round  which  ropes  are  fastened,  lest  the  roof  be  sud- 
126 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  127 

denly  lifted  and  hurled  into  the  air.  Boats  you  shall 
see,  three  or  four,  perhaps,  on  the  sloping  shingle 
of  one  cleft  in  the  rock,  but  hauled  so  high  above 
the  water-line  that  it  would  seem  a  day's  labour  to 
launch  them.  And,  in  truth,  the  days  when  it  is  safe 
to  launch  a  boat  or  beach  a  boat,  in  that  inhospitable 
nook  are  for  months  together  few  or  none.  Nature, 
that  in  so  many  bays  seems  to  call  vessels  inward 
with  alluring  shores  and  windings  of  the  waterway, 
has  here  set  up  a  mark  that  might  be  a  beacon  to 
warn  seafarers  from  the  coast ;  for,  off  the  corner  of 
the  great  cliff,  there  towers  one  huge  fragment,  a 
mountainous  pillar  of  rock,  fallen  apart  and  out- 
wards, severed  at  the  base  from  the  shore,  as  though 
some  fierce  sword-wielder  had  struck  down  once 
and  for  all  upon  the  headland  and  cleft  the  steep  con- 
tour into  sheer  precipice,  determined  that  here,  at 
least,  earth  should  be  inaccessible  from  the  sea ;  here, 
at  least,  the  eagle  should  breed  secure. 

And  yet  this  glen,  so  girt  about  with  all  the  sav- 
agery of  sea,  and  rock,  and  sky,  is  thickly  peopled. 
Tiny  plots  of  land  show  tillage,  corn  or  potatoes 
crouching  under  the  shelter  of  massive  stone  walls 
and  mounded  banks;  yet  these  plots  must  yield 
scant  provender  for  all  those  huts  that  nestle  close 
into  the  folds  of  the  hills.  How  they  live,  these 
folk  —  not  fishers,  for  the  harbourless  sea  forbids 
—  must  be  a  wonder;  but  here  in  this  valley,  for 
immemorial  ages,  men  have  been  thick  upon  the 


128  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

ground.  Monuments  of  time  before  history  attest 
their  presence;  great  Druid  rings,  grottoes  raised 
of  enormous  upright  stones,  and  roofed  with  even 
huger  slabs,  once  the  shrine  of  a  forgotten  cult,  now 
sometimes  turned  to  styes  or  stables;  subterranean 
passages  covered  in  with  great  flagstones  that  three 
men  could  scarcely  lift ;  all  these  speak  of  the  older 
days.  And  on  the  mountain  side  a  ruined  chapel, 
still  a  place  of  pilgrimage,  keeps  alive  the  memory 
of  Donegal's  great  saint;  a  cairn  of  stones  speaks 
the  multitude  of  worshippers  that  have  piled  it, 
leaving  each  his  pebble.  Centuries  have  passed  over 
the  valley,  and  made  little  change ;  a  church,  a  school- 
house,  here  and  there  a  slated  roof;  but  still  in  its 
wind-swept  space,  man  and  his  dwellings  seem  a 
little  thing,  hard  set  to  keep  their  hold  among  wild 
elements,  and  yet  man  and  his  dwellings  are  still 
there,  looking  out  from  a  treeless  earth  upon  a 
sailless  sea. 

There  was  the  birthplace  of  Owen  Conroy,  there 
he  had  grown  to  manhood,  there  in  the  unaltered 
fields  and  mountains  he  had  seen  all  his  life  from 
time  to  time  creatures  walking  that  were  not  of 
human  flesh.  And  there  he  returned  now,  to  fight 
with  a  trouble  that  was  wholly  new  to  him. 

He  had  made  himself  an  existence  above  fear  or 
desire.  Money  had  little  meaning  to  one  of  such 
simple  needs.  Ambition  and  the  thought  of  rivalry 
had  scarcely  touched  his  mind ;  he  lived  lonely  with 


THE   OLD    KNOWLEDGE  129 

his  visions  and  his  dreams,  using  his  art  rather  as 
a  means  than  as  an  end  —  at  most  as  a  pastime. 
Living  as  he  did,  he  had  shown  his  work  to  very 
few  —  had  scarcely  considered  in  himself  the  ques- 
tion whether  it  was  good  or  bad.  The  half-friend- 
ship which  had  sprung  up  between  him  and  Frank 
Norman  was  not  of  his  seeking;  it  was  due  to  the 
other's  sympathetic  curiosity.  That  a  man  rather 
over-educated  than  unfamiliar  with  such  things 
should  stand  in  wondering  admiration  before  these 
jottings,  seemed  to  Conroy  at  first  matter  for  sur- 
prise, rather  than  for  pleasure.  Still,  it  pleased  him, 
and  if  it  did  not  excite,  it  made  a  little  stir  on  the 
surface  of  his  tranquillity.  He  felt  himself  return- 
ing now  and  then  to  the  thought  of  what  artists 
would  say. 

Then  had  come  into  his  ken  this  new  creature, 
equipped  with  all  that  in  himself  was  lacking,  an 
artist  by  training  as  well  as  by  instinct,  —  an  artist, 
and  a  woman.  Educated  men  he  had  met  and 
known,  but  all  the  women  ,in  his  life  had  been  peas- 
ants. And  now  the  first  woman  that  he  met  on  a 
level,  was  not  only  beautiful,  he  thought,  not  only 
accomplished,  but  vibrating  with  that  power  of 
instant  divination  —  the  woman's  faculty,  to  give 
rather  than  to  take,  to  perceive  rather  than  to  origi- 
nate. The  atmosphere  of  her  being  was  full  of 
changes,  responsive  to  the  mood  of  what  she  heard, 
what  she  beheld.  The  play  of  her  face,  the  altering 


I3o  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

radiation,  as  she  studied  his  drawings  or  listened 
to  the  exposition  of  his  thought,  was  more  to  him 
than  any  spoken  criticism;  it  revealed  to  himself 
new  meanings  in  the  image.  For  the  first  time  he 
felt  that  something  was  lacking  to  his  completion. 
Alone,  he  was  not  sufficient  to  himself. 

It  was  now  the  second  day  of  this  possession,  and 
his  nature,  new  to  it,  revolted.  His  work  done, 
he  had  ridden  long  miles  over  hilly  roads  to  get 
back  to  the  old  theatre  of  his  dream  pageants;  he 
had  come  out  into  the  loveliness  of  that  long  sum- 
mer evening,  he  had  climbed  the  hillside,  and  lay 
looking  out  across  a  smooth  Atlantic,  following  the 
sun-path  with  his  eyes.  About  him  the  grey  rocks 
were  gilded,  the  short,  crisp  grass  of  the  cliff-top 
took  a  hue  of  gold,  the  glen  below  him  was  bathed 
in  golden  splendour.  Peace  lay  upon  the  face  of  all 
wild  things,  the  manifold  life  drank  in  the  bene- 
diction of  the  time.  He  had  only  to  compose  him- 
self, to  attune  his  mood  to  the  great  harmony,  and, 
his  mind  detached  from  earthly  preoccupations, 
would  fall  of  itself  into  that  tense  and  yearning 
vacancy  which  is  the  prelude  to  vision. 

But  on  this  day,  hill  and  valley  were  dispeopled  of 
the  strange  habitants :  no  shape  of  winged  creature, 
no  majestic  moving  presence  vouchsafed  itself  to 
his  inward  eye.  And  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  the 
mirror  on  which  these  had  been  wont  to  reflect 
themselves  was  clouded  and  troubled.  The  image 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  131 

that  it  craved  was  not  their  image ;  it  was  an  image 
that  had  framed  itself  merely  on  the  transitory  and 
imperfect  sense.  He  could  call  up  to  memory, 
almost  in  the  fulness  of  their  unearthly  perfection, 
the  visions  of  his  mysterious  and  secluded  world ; 
but  the  picture  which  he  now  consciously  strove  to 
shape  must  be  constructed  from  partial  and  faulty 
recollections  :  a  fleeting  turn  of  the  head,  the  gesture 
of  a  hand.  He  was  aware  now,  for  the  first  time, 
of  the  difference  between  his  human  perceptions  and 
those  which  came  to  him  in  vision.  Revealed  to 
him  in  their  essence,  in  their  totality,  the  shapes 
from  behind  the  veil  fell  at  once  into  their  own 
harmonies,  and  soothed  the  mind  with  a  conscious- 
ness of  universal  order.  In  them  his  spirit  could 
acquiesce,  could  repose.  But  this  apparition  of  his 
own  world  came  to  him,  a  thing  to  be  slowly  com- 
prehended, to  be  disentangled,  complex,  not  simple, 
and  appealing  at  once  to  many  faculties  in  him. 

Abandoning  himself  entirely  to  the  thought  of 
her,  he  took  his  pencil  and  fell  to  drawing.  But 
he  was  astonished  by  the  triviality  of  his  own  im- 
pressions. This  was  not  the  woman;  these  had  no 
relation  to  the  soul  of  which  glimpses  had  come  to 
him ;  none,  at  least,  that  he  could  trace.  The  beauty 
that  at  once  haunted  and  eluded  him  was  not 
there.  It  had  been  stamped  with  a  larger  impress, 
it  was  a  power,  an  element,  kin  to  the  winds  and 
waves. 


1 32  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  I  have  not  seen,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It  is 
strange,  I  cannot  see." 

And  he  lay  there  on  the  hillside,  perplexing  him- 
self with  thought  till  the  slow  twilight  closed  in, 
and  lights  were  visible  across  the  valley,  and  the 
stars  shone  thick  in  heaven. 


CHAPTER   XI 

BUT  while  Owen  Conroy  dreamed  of  the  woman 
whose  face  he  had  half-seen,  half-guessed  at,  the 
girl  was  busy  with  her  play. 

Millicent  had  dealt  severely  with  Frank's  sug- 
gestion that  he  should  ride  over  with  her  in  the 
morning  and  help  her  to  find  her  way  to  Ballin- 
derry.  She  returned  dutifully  to  her  painting,  and 
became  engrossed  in  her  work  till  the  shifting  light 
stopped  her.  Then,  to  her  horror,  she  realized  that 
it  was  within  twenty  minutes  of  the  time  that  Miss 
Lisle  had  named  for  lunch.  Three-quarters  of  an 
hour  later  she  was  pedalling,  hot  and  breathless,  up 
the  Ballinderry  avenue.  It  reassured  her  to  see 
Frank  on  the  doorstep  in  flannels,  playing  with  a 
retriever  puppy. 

"Am  I  frightfully  late?"  she  asked,  as  they 
shook  hands. 

Frank  smiled  placidly  at  her.  "We  aren't  the 
slaves  of  time  in  this  country.  Lunch  may  be  in 
half  an  hour.  I  wouldn't  like  to  promise.  But, 
come  in,  and  I'll  go  and  find  my  cousins." 


i34  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

And,  indeed,  it  was  long  enough  before  the  family 
gathered  itself  together  in  its  leisurely  way,  and 
sat  down  to  its  leisurely,  easy-going  lunch.  Milli- 
cent  was  filled  with  wonder  at  the  suave  and  dis- 
tinguished-looking old  retainer  in  grey  tweed,  who 
handed  round  the  plates,  pressing  second  helps  upon 
her  with  a  note  of  personal  appeal,  occasionally 
joining  in  the  conversation,  and  moved  to  a  dignified 
merriment  by  the  colonel's  stories.  He  did  not 
laugh ;  he  merely  beamed ;  and  Millicent  was  aware 
that  he  smiled  with  a  kind  of  proprietary  satisfac- 
tion. The  colonel  was  doing  him  credit  before  a 
new  audience.  Partly  also,  Millicent  felt,  the  smile 
signified  his  approbation  of  her,  because  she  was 
amused. 

"  Whatever  you  do,  Miss  Carteret,"  the  colonel 
was  saying,  "  don't  forget  to  make  them  show  you 
the  sun-dial  in  the  shrubbery.  These  young  people 
don't  think  much  of  it,  but  I  tell  you  there  wasn't 
as  much  talk  when  Cleopatra's  needle  was  put  up 
in  London  as  there  was  in  this  country  when  old 
James  Irwin,  that  was  grandfather  to  this  man, 
had  that  dial  put  up.  He  was  a  great  one  for  plan- 
tations and  laying  out  walks  and  the  like  of  that, 
and  it  was  he  made  the  shrubbery ;  and  there  wasn't 
ever  a  book  written  about  the  way  of  doing  those 
things  that  he  hadn't  read.  And  by  what  he  could 
learn,  ornamental  grounds  —  that  was  what  he 
always  called  them  — '  Come  down  and  see  my 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  135 

ornamental  grounds  ' —  well,  ornamental  grounds 
were  nothing  at  all  without  a  dial.  So  he  got  this 
dial  made  up  in  Dublin,  and  he  had  inscriptions  on 
it  in  all  the  genteel  languages  —  in  Latin  and 
Greek,  of  course,  and  in  Hebrew  and  in  Irish  no 
less ;  anything  you  please,  so  long  as  no  one  would 
be  able  to  understand  it.  And  then  the  thing  had 
to  be  set  up,  and  he  had  old  Dr.  Higgins  over  from 
Tullyaughnish  Rectory,  for  of  course,  Tullyaugh- 
nish  was  one  of  the  college  livings,  and  old  Higgins 
was  a  Fellow  of  Trinity  and  a  famous  mathema- 
tician. And  you  never  saw  such  work  as  there  was 
getting  it  set  just  exactly  right,  the  way  there'd  be 
no  error  in  the  time.  Well,  then,  it  was  set  up,  and 
old  James  Irwin  said  that  there  would  be  no  more 
disputes  about  the  time,  in  this  neighbourhood  any- 
way; for,  you  see,  there  was  no  telegraph  then,  and 
we  were  all  depending  on  our  own  watches.  Well, 
the  first  thing  that  ever  happened  was  a  terrible  row 
between  James  Irwin  and  old  Higgins,  for  the 
church  clock  had  a  way  of  going  fast;  and  one 
morning  James  Irwin  and  the  whole  batch  from 
Rockhill  —  two  car  loads  of  them  —  marched  into 
church  just  when  Higgins  was  finishing  the  second 
lesson.  And  nobody  would  have  thought  anything 
of  that,  but  James  Irwin,  instead  of  putting  his  face 
into  his  big  top  hat  the  way  he  always  did,  drew 
out  the  big  hunting  watch  out  of  his  fob  and  opened 
the  case  of  it,  and  turned  to  his  wife  that  was  stand- 


136  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

ing  beside  him  and  showed  it  to  her,  and  then  he 
turned  and  held  it  up  to  Jemmy  Hayes  in  the  pew 
behind;  and,  of  course,  the  whole  church  knew 
James  Irwin  was  finding  fault  with  the  church  clock. 
And  after  church  he  and  Higgins  had  it  out  in  the 
vestry,  and,  you  see,  Higgins  had  nothing  to  say, 
for  it  was  he  set  the  dial  himself.  '  The  sun  can't 
be  wrong,'  says  old  James,  'but,  of  course,  Dr. 
Higgins,  your  calculation  may  be  at  fault.'  And 
you  may  be  sure  Higgins  wasn't  going  to  allow 
that." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  the  butler  put  in 
his  word. 

"  It  was  after  that  Hugh  McConnell  got  the  job 
of  mending  her,  colonel." 

"  It  was,  David.  And  if  the  man  out  of  Derry 
made  her  go  fast,  McConnell  made  her  go  slow ; 
and  that  was  always  better.  But  I  was  telling  you 
about  the  dial,  Miss  Carteret.  James  Irwin  was 
the  proudest  man  you  could  see  when  he  knew  the 
whole  countryside  was  looking  to  him  for  the  time 
of  day,  and  you  may  be  sure  there  was  plenty  of 
talk  among  the  country  people  about  this  wonderful 
kind  of  clock.  Well,  one  day  old  James  was  down 
by  the  shore  there,  watching  the  men  that  were  busy 
on  his  new  walk,  and  he  was  beginning  to  feel  a 
bit  hungry.  '  I  don't  know  is  it  near  dinner  time,' 
he  said,  *  and  I've  left  my  watch  in  the  house.  Run 
up,'  says  he  to  one  of  the  boys  that  were  working — " 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  137 

"  It  was  Andy  Freel  was  his  name,"  put  in  David. 

"  Just  that,"  said  the  colonel.  "  '  Run  up,  Andy,' 
he  says,  '  and  fetch  me  the  time  by  the  dial.'  Well, 
it  was  a  good  piece  away,  but  still  James  wondered 
what  was  keeping  him  so  long.  '  Powers  above  us, 
what's  thon?'  says  one  man  that  heard  something 
trailing  along  round  the  corner  of  the  walk;  and 
next  minute  there  was  my  bold  Andy  that  had  torn 
the  dial  clean  out  of  the  socket  and  was  dragging  it 
after  him.  '  Here  she  is,  yer  honour/  says  he  to 
James,  with  the  sweat  running  off  him  in  streams, 
'  and  hard  set  I  was  to  get  her.'  " 

"  And  you  may  think,  Miss  Carteret,"  said 
Frank,  "  if  Dr.  Higgins  was  likely  to  make  his  cal- 
culations again." 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  great  day  for  Higgins,"  said  the 
colonel,  "  and  after  that  there  was  no  time  in  the 
county  but  just  the  church  clock.  And  it  was  Willy 
Irwin's  father  that  had  the  dial  put  up  again,  for 
the  old  man  had  lost  conceit  of  it  entirely." 

All  things  have  an  end,  even  luncheon  at  Ballin- 
derry ;  and  in  the  slow  process  of  time  the  phaeton 
was  at  the  door.  Millicent  found  it  taken  for 
granted  that  she  was  to  ride  on  with  Frank,  and  was 
in  no  way  inclined  to  protest.  Accordingly,  he  and 
she  set  off  —  Millicent  having  stipulated  only  that 
a  meeting  by  the  road  should  be  arranged,  so  that 
the  whole  party  should  arrive  together.  Their  way 
was  from  the  front  of  the  house,  down  a  curve  of 


138  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

avenue  overshadowed  with  great  beech  trees  to  the 
river  and  a  little  high-backed  bridge.  Trout  were 
rising  in  the  sun  all  over  the  long,  still  reach,  and 
Frank  stopped  for  a  moment  to  stare  over  into  the 
water  and  show  her  the  fish  swimming  below.  The 
avenue  ran  level  to  the  road,  and  they  began  then  to 
climb  out  of  the  river  valley  —  gradually  at  first, 
with  the  timbered  country  still  close  to  them;  then 
turning  their  backs  on  it,  they  reached  outlying 
patches  of  wild,  barren  moor.  But  as  they  rose, 
Millicent  began  to  have  glimpses  of  the  sea-lough 
that  her  steamer  had  crossed,  not  grey  now,  but 
glorious  blue,  shut  in  by  purple  mountains.  Then  a 
long  line  of  plantation  on  their  left  blocked  it  from 
sight,  but  to  their  right  now  was  open  moor,  rising 
long  and  brown  towards  peaked  hills  sharp  against 
the  sky  line.  The  look  of  the  road  itself  pleased  the 
artist  sense  in  Millicent  and  almost  propitiated  the 
cyclist.  It  was  metalled  with  granite,  pink  and  grey, 
and  full  of  tiny  mica  particles  that  made  a  twinkling 
reflection  of  the  sunshine  from  the  sandy  surface  — 
where  the  surface  could  be  spoken  of  as  sandy. 
Frank  was  full  of  apologies  for  the  rough  going, 
but  Millicent  was  in  no  humour  to  grumble.  The 
air  was  full  of  warm  scent  from  the  straggling  furze 
bushes  that  overgrew  the  rough  bank  on  either  hand 
with  green  prickles  and  golden  bloom ;  and  the 
stunted  and  weather-beaten  plantation,  with  trees 
all  driven  inward  by  many  winds  from  the  bare 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  139 

moor,  was  picturesque  enough.  At  last  the  by-road 
struck  at  right  angles  into  a  main  highway, 
marked  with  telegraph  poles,  and  Frank  jumped  off 
his  bicycle. 

"  Stop  here  a  minute,"  he  said. 

They  had  the  lough  now  full  before  them.  Be- 
yond it  the  distant  centre  of  the  picture  was  filled 
by  one  great  mountain,  peaked  yet  not  jagged,  rising 
with  exquisite  grace  and  dignity  of  line  to  its  ma- 
jestic height.  And,  broad  under  its  base,  the  lough 
stretched  transversely  across  the  nearer  distance, 
making  the  eye  of  the  scene :  its  own  contour  broken 
and  varied  by  little  wooded  promontories,  itself 
breaking  and  varying  the  curves  of  the  land. 
Towards  it  the  road  ran,  a  long  ribbon  of  pinkish 
white,  and  in  the  foreground  lay  tillage  country, 
golden  with  many  ripening  oatfields,  and  green  in 
patches  with  root  crops. 

"  There,"  said  Frank,  "  that  is  Donegal.  There 
are  finer  things  in  the  county,  perhaps;  but  we  are 
content  to  be  judged  by  that." 

Millicent  looked  long  at  it.  "  What  a  country !  " 
she  said  at  last.  "  When  I  saw  it  the  other  day,  it 
was  all  like  a  wash  of  sepia;  and  to-day  it  shines 
like  jewels." 

"  It  wants  sunshine.  Sunshine  never  turns  it 
leaden  like  an  English  July.  You  see  that  sort  of 
pearly  look  in  the  atmosphere  between  you  and  the 
mountains.  If  you  dropped  me  out  of  the  clouds 


140  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

and  I  saw  that  look  in  the  air,  I  would  say  I  was 
in  Ireland.  I  suppose  steady  sun  would  dry  it  out. 
But  you  never  get  too  much  sun  in  Ireland,"  he 
added,  with  a  queer  laugh. 

Millicent  was  quick  to  understand  his  thought, 
and  to  put  her  own  application  on  the  symbol. 

"  Aren't  you  dreadfully  afraid  sometimes,"  she 
said,  with  just  the  least  inflection  in  her  voice  of  a 
serious  laughter,  "  that  some  day  there  will  come  a 
dry  summer,  and  you  won't  know  your  own  country 
any  more?  How  long  would  it  take,  do  you  think?" 

"  About  three  centuries,"  he  answered.  "  There 
are  long  arrears  of  sunshine  in  Ireland." 

Mounting  again,  they  soon  had  crested  the  hill 
now,  and  below  them  they  saw  the  other  arm  of 
the  lough.  After  a  few  hundred  yards  over  level 
causeway  built  through  bog,  the  road  began  to 
descend. 

"  How  blessed !  "  Millicent  called  out  in  glee. 
"  I'm  going  to  coast !  " 

"  Not  you,"  said  Frank.  "  I'm  in  charge.  It  isn't 
safe.  There's  a  shocking  corner." 

Nothing  in  the  world  angered  Millicent  so  much 
as  an  order. 

"  You're  not  in  charge.  I  am  taking  very  good 
care  of  myself.  And  I  always  coast." 

She  put  her  feet  up  on  the  rests  and  waved  a  hand 
to  Frank,  who  was  back-pedalling  steadily. 

"  Good-bye!  "  she  called  out. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  141 

But  in  another  minute  he  was  beside,  driving 
his  machine  hard  to  keep  up  with  her  growing 
pace. 

"  Look  here !  This  is  simple  foolishness !  It  gets 
steeper,  and  we  have  to  turn  sharp  to  the  right  at  the 
bottom.  Put  your  brake  on,  anyhow !  " 

Millicent  was  aware  that  the  pace  was  getting 
high ;  but  she  waited  a  moment  sooner  than  appear 
submissive. 

"  Don't  fuss,"  was  all  she  condescended  to  answer. 
"  There's  plenty  of  time." 

Then  she  took  hold  of  the  brake  and  pressed  on 
it.  But,  to  her  horror,  the  lever  refused  to  move, 
and  in  an  instant  she  realized  that,  since  the  railway 
journey,  she  had  had  no  occasion  to  use  it.  It  must 
have  got  somehow  bent. 

Frank  was  urgent  with  her.  "  For  Heaven's  sake, 
slow  up !  You'll  certainly  come  to  grief !  You  don't 
know  the  turn !  " 

She  tried  her  best,  and  he  saw  her  effort.  "  The 
brake  won't  work !  "  she  gasped. 

He  felt  himself  turn  sick  with  fear.  They  had  not 
two  hundred  yards  to  the  turn,  and  the  speed  was 
tremendous  over  a  stony  road. 

"  Put  your  foot  on  the  tyre !  So."  He  shouted, 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  and,  as  he  did,  losing 
ground.  From  a  little  behind  he  saw  Millicent  try ; 
but  her  ankle  had  not  strength  enough  to  bear  on 
the  flying  wheel,  and,  in  the  effort,  she  nearly  lost 


142  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

her  balance.  He  regained  his  own  pedal  with  some 
difficulty  and  got  level  again.  Her  face  was  white 
and  red  in  patches,  he  saw. 

"  I  can't  catch  the  pedals ! "  she  cried  to  him. 

"  Don't  try.  Sit  quite  still.  I'm  going  to  stop 
you.  Steer  as  straight  as  you  can.  It's  the  only 
way." 

He  rode  up  as  close  to  her  as  he  dared,  and, 
stretching  out  his  left  hand,  caught  her  arm.  For 
an  instant  the  two  rushed  side  by  side  with  added 
impetus;  then  he  put  on  the  brake  with  his  right 
hand.  The  uneven  drag  pulled  the  bicycles  across ; 
but  Frank  swayed  to  counterbalance  it,  and  to  his 
delight  he  found  the  pace  slackening. 

"  Get  your  pedals  quick !  "  he  said,  still  nervous. 

But  Millicent,  in  her  hurried  attempt  to  recover 
them,  lost  something  of  her  balance,  the  two 
machines  swayed,  and  Frank,  gripping  at  the  brake 
and  checking  the  pedals  with  all  his  force,  found 
himself  actually  supporting  most  of  her  weight  just 
as  he  reached  the  turn,  and  endeavoured  to  steer 
to  the  right.  The  pace  was  gone,  but  the  angle  could 
not  be  taken  under  such  conditions.  Millicent's 
wheel  went  from  under  her,  and  in  falling  she  car- 
ried Frank  down.  For  a  moment  there  was  inex- 
tricable confusion;  then  the  two  were  on  their  feet 
—  Millicent  vehemently  dusting  her  skirt,  while 
Frank  overwhelmed  her  with  inquiries  and  protesta- 
tions. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  143 

"  I  was  a  fool  to  tell  you  to  move.  If  you  had 
kept  your  feet  where  they  were  we  could  have  come 
round  all  right ;  only  I  was  afraid  of  meeting  some- 
thing." 

"  It's  all  right,"  answered  Millicent,  very  curtly. 
"  Am  I  in  an  awful  mess  ?  Isn't  it  sickening  ?  " 

Frank  was  offended.  "  Your  skirt's  dusty/'  he 
said.  "  But  you  may  be  very  well  content  if  your 
neck  isn't  broken.  What  thief  made  that  bicycle,  I 
should  like  to  know  ?  A  brake  like  that  is  a  pretty 
thing  to  trust  to !  " 

He  picked  it  up  from  where  it  lay  in  the  road  and 
tried  the  lever.  It  moved  freely. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  "  look  at  this !  I  can't  under- 
stand. Look  here! "  and  he  snapped  it  on  and  off. 

Then,  to  his  blank  amazement,  Millicent  burst 
into  tears. 

To  say  that  Frank  was  contrite  would  be  a  gro- 
tesque understatement.  He  was  overwhelmed  with 
remorse.  He  talked  hurriedly  and  confusedly,  blam- 
ing himself  for  an  inconsiderate  brute.  Of  course 
he  ought  to  have  known  that  she  must  be  dreadfully 
shaken.  But  still  Millicent  was  convulsed  with 
sobs,  turning  away  and  striving  ineffectually  to 
recover  a  woman's  least  accessible  property  —  her 
pocket-handkerchief. 

Then  a  better  inspiration  dawned  upon  Frank. 
He  took  the  girl  gently  by  the  arm  and  led  her 
across  the  road  —  unresisting  now. 


144  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  Come  and  sit  down  here,"  he  said,  seating  her  on 
the  bank.  "I'm  going  up  to  that  house  "  —  and  he 
pointed  to  a  farmhouse  a  little  way  up  the  hill,  which 
they  had  passed  in  their  wild  career  —  "  to  get  you 
a  drink  of  water." 

Stowing  the  bicycles  out  of  the  way,  he  ran  as  if 
for  his  life,  and  in  five  minutes  was  back  with  a  cup 
and  a  bowl.  Millicent,  red-eyed,  but  recovered,  was 
sitting  erect. 

"  I  am  ashamed,"  she  said.  "  I  hate  making  a 
fool  of  myself." 

"  Don't  talk,"  he  said ;  "  drink  some  water." 

She  obeyed  meekly;  then  she  looked  up  with  an 
air  of  contrition. 

"  It  was  all  my  fault.  And  I've  never  thanked 
you." 

"  I  told  you  not  to  talk,"  said  Frank. 

She  made  a  little  face. 

"  I  hate  doing  what  I'm  told.  That  was  just  the 
trouble.  But  you're  very  good  —  really  and  truly 
very  good.  Am  I  to  dabble  my  face  in  that  bowl?  " 

"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  suggest,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing. "  I  will  only  say  —  here  is  the  bowl,  there  is 
your  face.  I  will  even  go  so  far  as  this  —  here  is  a 
clean  pocket-handkerchief." 

She  dabbed  at  her  eyes  with  a  wet  corner  of  the 
handkerchief;  then  she  looked  up. 

"  Don't  you  hate  women  who  cry  and  make 
scenes  ?  " 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  145 

Frank  considered  a  moment.  "  That  depends,"  he 
answered  judicially. 

"  Well,  I  do,"  said  Millicent.  Then  she  added  in- 
consequently,  "I  was  horribly  frightened,  you  know." 

"  So  was  I  —  never  worse,"  said  Frank,  with 
heartfelt  emphasis. 

"  Was  that  why  you  began  to  scold  me  ?  " 

"Scold  you?" 

"  Scold  me.  I  should  rather  think  you  did.  You 
were  simply  unbearable." 

Frank  broke  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  "  Oh,  if  you 
come  to  that,  you're  past  all  endurance.  Why,  I 
wasn't  saying  a  word  about  you.  I  was  merely 
examining  your  brake,  when  —  oh,  well,  when  you 
surprised  me." 

"  Don't.    I  forbid  you  to  speak  of  it." 

Then  she  looked  at  him  with  undisguised  but 
kindly  laughter  in  her  eyes. 

"  Poor  thing !  Didn't  you  wish  you  were  a  hun- 
dred miles  away  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  with  a  weight  of  emphasis  that 
stopped  her. 

And  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  he  was  wondering 
in  himself  whether  he  had  made  the  most  of  the 
situation.  When  she  fell  he  had  been  too  much 
concerned  to  think  of  anything  but  her  safety,  and 
then,  when  she  broke  down,  of  her  comfort.  Now, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  as  well  make  some 
capital  out  of  his  emotions. 


146  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  much  about  myself,"  he  said, 
with  a  touch  of  reproachfulness. 

Instantly  her  tone  changed.  "  You  were  a  real 
brick  to  me,"  she  said. 

Her  frankness  of  comradeship  was  very  disarm- 
ing. Frank's  little  scheme  perished  in  a  glow  of 
exultation.  He  had  never  in  all  his  life,  it  seemed 
to  him,  felt  on  such  good  terms  with  himself.  His 
answer  was  not  less  eloquent  than  her  acknowledg- 
ment. 

"  Rot,"  he  said.  Then,  getting  up,  "  Let's  look 
at  your  bicycle."  He  overhauled  it,  straightened  up 
the  handles  which  had  been  slewed  round,  tested  the 
brake  again  and  again.  "  The  beastly  thing  must 
have  got  jammed  somehow,  and  the  fall  freed  it. 
There  seems  to  be  nothing  wrong  with  the  machine. 
And  you?  Only  dust.  You'd  better  let  me  brush 
you.  That's  one  of  the  natural  uses  of  a  tweed 
cap." 

Millicent  submitted  to  the  operation,  and  with 
much  laughter  they  supervised  one  another's 
toilette. 

"  Am  I  really  all  right  —  really  and  truly  ?  My 
hair?" 

Frank  looked  at  her  with  half- shut  eyes,  and 
adapted  a  quotation. 

« '  A  fine  disorder  in  the  hair 

Gives  some  a  most  beguiling  air.' " 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  147 

"  Oh !  "  said  Millicent ;  and  her  hands  went  up  to 
her  temples.  "  What  am  I  to  do?  Is  it  very  bad? 
Don't  laugh.  I  forbid  you  to  laugh." 

"  I  don't  laugh.  I  admire.  Truly  it's  all  right. 
You  can  ask  my  cousins.  But  you  needn't.  If  you 
like,  you  know,  face  is  the  Latin  for  a  candle.  I 
don't  see  why  this  regrettable  incident  should  ever 
have  occurred." 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly,  and  he  explained. 

"  I  can  take  that  bowl  back  before  my  cousins 
come  along,  I  think.  Shall  I  —  " 

"Fly!"  she  said. 

And  when  the  little  phaeton  came  along  the  lower 
road  ten  minutes  later,  the  Miss  Lisles  found  two 
young  people  sitting  in  great  comfort  upon  a  grassy 
bank. 

"  Nothing  would  induce  Miss  Carteret  to  move  a 
step  further,  except  under  your  wing,  cousin  Selina," 
said  Frank,  in  explanation.  "  Now  you're  come, 
we'll  race  the  pony." 

Nothing  need  be  said  about  the  tennis-party,  ex- 
cept that  Miss  Carteret  played  croquet  persistently 
with  one  of  the  young  Irwins.  But  she  allowed 
Frank  to  take  her  to  visit  the  famous  sun-dial,  and, 
what  is  more,  she  stayed  for  dinner  at  Ballinderry, 
and  let  him  see  her  home  to  Margaret's  afterwards 
in  the  long  soft  cool  northern  twilight. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THREE  days  later  the  weather  had  broken.  Owen 
Conroy,  back  from  his  tour  of  inspection  and  demon- 
stration in  the  West,  had  made  his  way  late  on  a 
windy  afternoon  to  Margaret's  cottage.  But  Milli- 
cent  was  not  there ;  and  at  Margaret's  answer  — 
that  she  was  out  on  the  lough  fishing  with  Mr. 
Norman  —  he  felt  a  sudden  stab  of  pain.  His  first 
instinct  was  to  rise  and  go  —  to  run  from  this  new 
and  horrible  sensation.  But  a  heavy  pelt  of  rain 
had  come  on  just  as  he  reached  the  house,  and 
Margaret  assured  him  that  it  must  bring  the  anglers 
in;  looking  out  of  the  door  she  showed  him  the 
boat  heading  up  for  the  river. 

"  They'll  be  no  time  at  all  now.  Mr.  Norman's 
rowing  along  with  Hughie.  But,  such  a  day  for 
Miss  Carteret  to  be  out  in!  and  her  with  no  cloak 
or  nothing.  I  must  get  a  fire  lit  in  her  room  this 
minute." 

And  so  Margaret  ran  on,  while  Owen  Conroy  sat 
by  the  hearth,  divided  between  emotions,  unwilling 
to  stay,  unwilling  to  go. 

148 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  149 

In  ten  minutes  there  was  a  sound  of  voices  in  the 
lane,  and  Millicent,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in 
Frank  Norman's  long  mackintosh,  came  bursting 
in  with  Frank  behind  her.  Dripping  but  radiant, 
her  bright  hair  in  wild  confusion,  she  seemed  to 
Conroy,  as  he  sat  in  the  darkness  of  the  chimney 
corner,  to  bring  with  her  the  spirit  of  fresh  wind 
and  rain. 

"  Oh,  Margaret,  I'm  so  wet ;  but  we've  had  such 
a  jolly  day  —  and  we've  caught  such  a  lot  of  trout. 
Where  are  they?  "  and  she  turned  to  Hughie  who, 
laden  with  rods  and  baskets,  was  blocking  the  light 
in  the  doorway. 

As  he  came  forward  with  the  fish  hanging  in  the 
bag  of  a  landing-net,  Millicent  became  aware  that 
Frank  was  greeting  some  one,  and  she  turned  and 
saw  Conroy. 

She  shook  hands  hastily,  and  at  Margaret's  bid- 
ding disappeared  to  "  take  off  her."  When  she 
emerged  she  found  Frank  Norman  still  sitting  by 
the  comfortable  fire,  drinking  Margaret's  strong  tea 
from  Margaret's  large  and  solid  cups,  and  eating 
Margaret's  best  soda-bread,  while  he  talked  politics 
to  Owen  Conroy.  But  on  Conroy's  face  Millicent's 
quick  sense  detected  a  cloud  that  she  had  not  seen 
before,  and  it  embarrassed  her.  The  three  talked 
together  for  a  little,  and  Frank,  whose  perceptions 
where  Millicent  was  concerned  were  quick  as  hers, 
detected  the  constraint,  and  instantly  rose. 


150  THE  OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

Jealousy  had  a  small  hold  on  his  light-hearted 
temperament.  But,  nevertheless,  as  he  rode  home 
through  the  rain,  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  friend 
had  been  evidently  relieved  by  his  departure.  It 
was  true  she  had  said  good-bye  in  the  friendliest  and 
most  cordial  way,  but  with  an  air  of  relief,  as  if 
she  were  grateful  to  him  for  going.  It  was  a  symp- 
tom he  did  not  wholly  like.  And  Conroy  —  Conroy 
as  a  man  and  a  brother  was  all  very  well,  but  decid- 
edly he  did  not  like  Conroy  in  this  new  aspect.  All 
his  class  prejudice  was  roused;  and  yet  through  it  he 
felt  keenly  how  strong  might  be  the  appeal  of  such 
a  man  to  a  girl  of  Millicent's  intelligence  and  habit 
of  mind.  The  strongest  appeal  of  all  —  the  appeal 
to  her  for  support  and  sympathy  —  he  did  not 
understand,  but  the  attraction  of  power  was  plain 
to  him.  Also,  for  it  was  his  habit  to  reflect  on  his 
own  emotions,  he  was  struck  with  a  new  fact. 
Whether  he  was  falling  in  love  with  Millicent  Car- 
teret  or  no,  he  had  left  out  of  consideration ;  taking 
thought  for  the  morrow  or  even  for  the  day  was 
none  of  his  qualities.  He  had  fallen  in  love  before, 
in  the  natural  course  of  things,  and  he  had  been  no 
ways  loath  to  fall  in  love  again.  But  now  he  was 
conscious  of  something  different.  When  another 
personage  appeared,  the  thing  uppermost  in  his 
mind  was  not  the  instinct  of  competition ;  it  was  now 
a  thought  for  the  girl.  Whatever  he  himself  might 
stand  for  —  and  he  hardly  took  that  into  conscious 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  151 

reckoning  —  Conroy  represented  a  possible  mis- 
take. There  would  be  nothing  mean  about  it,  Con- 
roy was  cast  for  tragedy;  but  a  tragic  blunder  was 
only  one  degree  better  than  a  comedy  of  collapse. 

Altogether  he  was  disturbed  in  mind,  but  still 
sanguine,  still  confident.  And  the  day  had  been  a 
good  day ;  even  the  rain  had  helped,  giving  him  the 
chance  to  wrap  Millicent  up  in  his  mackintosh. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Millicent,  blissfully  uncon- 
scious of  these  apprehensions,  was  deep  in  discussion 
of  technical  points  over  Conroy's  drawings. 

"  There,"  she  said  at  last,  "  it's  ridiculous  of  me 
to  criticise.  The  work  is  far  and  away  beyond  what 
I  could  ever  attempt.  But  there  are  the  faults  in 
drawing." 

"  I  see  them  all,"  he  said.  "  It's  the  hand  fails  — 
or  the  knowledge,  Miss  Carteret.  And  then  it's 
hard  —  if  you  can  understand  me.  It's  in  a  way 
translating." 

And  as  Millicent  plied  him  with  questions,  Con- 
roy rose  into  a  long  rhapsody  over  the  nature  of  his 
visions.  He  explained  to  her  how  he  saw  them  as 
shapes  walking  in  a  world  not  chequered  in  light 
and  shade,  but  bathed  in  a  simpler  and  more  uniform 
luminosity  —  how  he  drew  their  shapes  and  out- 
lines, but  to  suggest  contour  must  invent  shadows 
such  as  the  world  sees.  And  the  colour  —  but  of 
the  colour  he  told  her  only  that  no  brush  of  the 
greatest  painter  could  imitate  its  vibration,  its 


152  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

blending  play  of  tints,  when  the  pulsing  life  flashed 
through  it  like  wind  on  a  field  of  sunlit  corn.  The 
colour  that  he  gave  was  only  symbolic,  he  said,  or, 
at  best,  answering  dimly  to  the  reality,  and  indicat- 
ing the  nature.  For  the  shapes  differed  according 
to  their  creation  —  shapes  of  earth,  water,  air,  and 
fire. 

"  And  you  know,  Miss  Carteret,"  he  went  on,  "  I 
see  living  men  and  women  too  that  way  mainly." 

"  I  know,"  said  Millicent,  "  Margaret  is  an  earth 
spirit." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  rooted  in  it  like  the  crops  grow- 
ing in  the  field.  And  Mr.  Norman,  now,  he  has  the 
shape,  in  my  mind,  of  running  water." 

"  Unstable  water  ?  "  asked  Millicent,  a  little  re- 
proachfully. 

"  No,  Miss  Carteret,  that  was  not  my  thought, 
but  the  water  that  goes  its  way  with  a  pleasant  noise, 
and  is  for  ever  varying  while  you  watch  it.  It  has 
the  shapes  of  flame,  too,  but  it  makes  downwards, 
and  the  flame  mounts.  —  It  is  yourself  that  has  the 
shape  of  flame,  Miss  Carteret,"  he  said,  pausing 
abruptly. 

Millicent  was  taken  aback  by  the  sudden  turn. 

"  Flame!  "  she  said.  "  I  don't  think  I  like  that. 
Flame  burns  —  and  burns  out." 

"  Not  the  sun's  flame,"  he  answered  quickly. 

Millicent  laughed  a  little  nervously.  "  Let  us  be 
modest  in  our  comparisons,"  she  said.  "  And  your- 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  153 

self,  Mr.  Conroy  —  you  are  surely  some  cousin  to 
the  creatures  of  the  air !  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  dropping  again  into  the  level  un- 
impassioned  tone  in  which  he  habitually  uttered  his 
strange  sayings ;  "  my  nature  is  of  the  earth." 

"Not  like  Margaret's,  surely?"  the  girl  put  in. 

"  Not  of  the  tilled  land,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  the 
spirit  of  the  lonely  earth  that  I  have  in  me  —  of  the 
lonely  un forgotten  earth,"  he  repeated,  as  his  face 
and  voice  began  to  take  on  something  of  the  fire  of 
rhapsody.  "  What  is  it,  will  you  tell  me,  Miss 
Carteret,"  he  went  on,  after  a  pause,  "that  keeps 
calling  and  calling  our  people  from  the  ends  of  the 
world,  from  thriving  farms  out  yonder  in  Australia 
and  America,  back  to  their  desolate  windy  moun- 
tains and  coasts  here,  if  it  is  not  the  spirits  that  I 
see  yonder  in  the  hills,  and  that  I  know  are  some 
way  part  of  myself?  They  were  made  living  by 
me  and  men  like  me,  and  the  strong  life  they  have 
in  them  lasts  for  ever,  bound  to  the  place  where  it 
was  created.  And  the  boys  and  girls  that  went  away 
from  them  are  out  yonder,  in  other  lands  that  have 
spirits,  too,  of  their  own,  but  spirits  that  are 
strangers  to  our  folk ;  and  away  there  over  the  sea, 
they  are  for  ever  thinking  long  for  the  old  grey 
country."  He  stopped  for  a  moment,  as  if  follow- 
ing out  his  own  thought.  "  Sure,  there's  many  a 
one  hears  a  voice  calling  and  does  not  know  where 
it  calls.  Ay,  and  the  ones  that  call  do  not  know 


154  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

what  they  are  calling  on.  I  tell  you,  I  saw  the  great 
steamer  for  America  trailing  smoke  after  her  away 
out  beyond  Horn  Head,  with  a  hundred  of  the 
people  out  from  Fanad  on  her,  and  all  the  time  these 
folk  "  —  and  he  pointed  to  his  drawings  —  "  were 
passing  through  the  lands,  and  not  a  tear  in  the  eye 
of  one  of  them.  No.  Whether  it  was  the  heart  of 
man,  or  the  heart  of  God  that  made  them,  they  live 
their  life  and  work  their  work  in  ignorance :  it  is  the 
heart  of  man  that  suffers  —  and  maybe  the  heart  of 
God." 

There  was  a  kind  of  far-off  thrilling  in  his  voice 
as  he  stopped,  that  was  to  Millicent  infinitely 
pathetic.  It  seemed  to  her  to  put  him  beyond  human 
reach  of  help  —  almost  of  sympathy  —  so  strange 
to  her  were  his  thoughts.  And  yet  she  was  deter- 
mined that  the  gulf  should  not  remain  unbridged. 

"  Mr.  Conroy,"  she  said  very  gently,  after  a 
moment's  silence,  "  you  must  be  patient  with  me. 
You  see  and  you  understand  what  is  hidden  from 
me." 

"  It  need  not  be,"  he  said  quickly,  "  for  the  veil 
is  thin.  I  can  see  that." 

"  But  it  is  there.  I  cannot  lift  it.  You  were  born 
seeing.  You  cannot  teach  what  you  never  learnt. 
Try  and  explain." 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  "  all  I  can." 

"  Why  is  it,  then,  that  you  are  born  seeing  what 
you  say  I  might  possibly  learn  to  see  ?  " 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  155 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  The  books  I  have 
read  say  it  is  because  the  soul  that  now  inhabits  me 
was,  in  its  latest  life,  much  taken  up  with  the  things 
of  the  spirit,  and  learnt  to  see  so  much  that  now  it 
sees  from  the  first." 

"  But  what  would  the  books  teach  me?  "  she  said. 

"  They  would  teach  you,  by  constant  and  earnest 
endeavour,  to  see  what  you  desire  to  see." 

"  Yes ;  but  don't  you  understand,  Mr.  Conroy, 
these  things  that  you  see  are  strange  to  me  —  just 
as  you  say  the  spirits  in  other  lands  are  strange  to 
the  people  from  here.  You  want  me  to  change  my 
whole  nature." 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I'm  not  asking  you  to  change 
it.  I  would  not  be  the  one  to  bid  you  do  that.  It 
is  only  to  make  stronger  in  it  what  is  strongest  — 
to  rise  toward  your  full  range  of  power.  Why  is 
it  I  can  speak  to  you  as  I  never  spoke  to  any  one? 
How  is  it  you  understand  easily,  and  see  the  beauty 
where  another  would  only  see  the  fancies  of  a  mad- 
man? You  can  guess  so  much  —  why  should  you 
not  learn  to  know?" 

"  But,  Mr.  Conroy,"  said  Millicent,  with  a  little 
laugh  that  was  half  a  sob,  "  I  guess  nothing.  I  only 
listen  to  what  you  tell  me,  and  because  I  like  you 
it  is  easy  to  understand.  Don't  you  see,  if  I  were 
desperately  interested  in  my  own  thoughts,  and  in 
gaining  my  own  knowledge,  I  should  not  be  so  well 
able  to  understand." 


156  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

Conroy  looked  at  her  strangely,  with  the  fixed 
intent  gaze  that  she  had  seen  before,  but  with  a  new 
expression,  not  of  searching,  but  of  contemplation. 
Millicent  grew  uneasy  under  it. 

"  Don't  you  think  that's  true  ?  "  she  asked,  wish- 
ing to  break  the  tension. 

He  gave  a  kind  of  start,  and  his  face  changed. 
"  True.  It's  God's  truth.  I  was  the  one  that  did 
not  understand.  'Tis  as  if  I  would  ask  the  sunshine 
to  change  itself  into  that  other  light  I  was  telling 
you  of.  The  earth  needs  the  sunshine,  Miss  Car- 
teret.  I  see  that  now." 

Here  was  indeed  a  change.  Millicent  had  listened 
before  like  a  disciple,  but  now  the  teacher  had  sud- 
denly become  a  man  and  she  a  woman.  There  was 
a  whimsical  sense  of  relief  mingled  with  her  em- 
barrassment. At  least,  she  knew  where  she  was 
standing  —  on  the  common  level  of  humanity.  But 
what  to  do  or  say  was  not  plain  to  her.  "  The  earth 
needs  it."  She  could  not  forget  his  identification  of 
himself  with  the  earth.  And  yet  to  accept  that 
sense  of  his  saying  was  to  transform  it  into  a  sort 
of  claim  on  her.  If  she  chose  to  treat  it  as  a  mere 
compliment,  she  had  always  to  hand  the  defence  of 
laughter;  but  when  the  man's  soul  lay  bare  before 
her,  displayed  with  the  rare  unreserve  of  primitive 
natures,  she  could  not  wound  him.  She  took  the 
simplest  way  —  accepting  the  phrase  just  as  it  was 
spoken,  and  trying  to  shift  the  talk  to  less  personal 
issues. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  157 

"  Thank  you  —  for  the  sunshine,"  she  said,  with 
a  little  laugh.  "  But  tell  me,  Mr.  Conroy.  Some  of 
these  are  pictures  of  living  people,  aren't  they  ?  Why 
do  you  make  them  look  like  the  others  ?  " 

"  I  can't  draw  things  unless  I  see  them  that  way 
—  on  the  other  plane,  as  the  books  call  it." 

"  Well,  then,  what  is  it  you  see  ?  The  souls  of 
these  people  ?  " 

Conroy  slightly  wrinkled  his  smooth  high  fore- 
head. 

"  No,  Miss  Carteret,  I  couldn't  say  that.  These 
are  themselves  —  only  as  I  see  them  on  the  plane 
where  thought  has  a  shape  to  the  eye,  and  can  move 
the  matter  it  is  embodied  in." 

"  Then,  when  you  see  the  people  like  that  you 
can  see  their  thoughts  ?  " 

"  I  can  see  what  they  are,"  he  answered,  "  and  the 
thought  is  only  a  form  of  themselves." 

"  And  can  you  make  them  think  what  you  want 
them  to  think  ?  Can  you  will  them  to  think  it  ?  " 

"  I've  never  tried,  Miss  Carteret,"  he  answered 
almost  brusquely.  "  It  would  be  what  I  have  no 
right  to  do." 

But  she  was  interested  —  she  touched  the  question 
of  power  so  fascinating  to  women. 

"  Then  you  think  you  could  have  the  power,  but 
it  would  be  wrong  to  use  it." 

"  I  am  very  sure  it  would  be  wrong,"  said  Con- 
roy. "  Are  there  not  snares  and  delusions  enough 


i58  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

on  our  own  path  without  taking  on  us  the  snare  of 
a  power  like  that  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  a  tremendous  emphasis,  as  a  re- 
claimed drunkard  might  speak  of  the  power  of  drink. 
Millicent  leant  forward  quickly  in  her  chair.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  here  was  a  new  glimpse  into  this 
baffling  nature. 

"  Mr.  Conroy,  were  you  never  ambitious  ?  " 

"Maybe  I  was,"  he  answered;  "but  the  other 
things  in  me  were  stronger." 

He  put  his  face  in  his  hands  for  an  instant,  then 
raised  it  to  look  at  her,  and  there  were  signs  on  it 
of  a  struggle  that  she  had  never  seen  before  on  that 
passive  repose. 

"  Isn't  peace  and  the  joy  of  the  spirit  more  than 
all  the  world  ? "  he  said  solemnly,  but  with  the 
accent  of  one  who  desires  to  convince  not  so  much 
his  hearer  as  himself. 

A  thought  rose  up  in  Millicent's  brain  that  she 
would  not  have  put  into  words.  But  as  the  ques- 
tion formed  itself  within  her  the  exaltation  died  out 
of  his  face. 

"  Ay,  what  do  I  know  of  the  world  ?  "  he  said 
as  if  in  answer  to  it.  And  he  dropped  his  face  into 
his  hands  with  a  deep  sigh.  "  What  do  I  know  of 
the  world  ?  "  he  repeated,  looking  up  at  her  face 
with  eyes  that  shone  wildly  out  of  the  grey  face 
propped  on  his  elbows. 

Millicent  was  horrified  and  a  little  frightened  to 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  159 

feel  her  thought  snatched  from  her.  And  for  the 
first  time  she  guessed  that  she  might  have  loosed 
forces  that  she  could  not  control.  But  she  took  her 
courage  in  both  hands  with  an  odd  sensation  as  if 
the  movements  of  her  mind  were  visible,  and  must 
make  a  brave  show.  She  felt  herself  responsible, 
yet  she  was  too  young  not  to  exult  in  responsibility. 

"  If  you  mean  the  life  of  big  towns,"  she  said, 
"  I  dare  say  you  know  nothing  of  it.  I  know  this, 
that  you  could  gain  there  perhaps  a  little  reputation, 
perhaps  a  great  one;  and  I  know  what  it  would 
cost  you  in  heartburning.  The  joy  of  the  spirit 
would  be  gone  then,  Mr.  Conroy.  And  now,  shall 
I  tell  you  one  thing?"  she  said,  rising  to  her  feet. 
"  I  have  lived  in  what  they  call  the  world,  and  I 
have  seen  plenty  of  people,  and  none  of  them 
seemed  so  far  above  me  as  you  yourself.  It  is  an 
honour  to  me  when  you  come  to  see  me.  Will  you 
come  again  ?  " 

And  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  her  eyes  shin- 
ing with  all  the  candour  of  admiration.  The 
presence  of  this  strange  creature  raised  her  to  her 
highest  level,  and  the  gesture  of  friendship  was  a 
queen's  gesture  of  dismissal  to  a  great  noble  — 
the  crowning  act  of  courtesy  in  one  secure  of  her 
prerogative. 

Conroy  rose  a  little  awkwardly,  took  her  hand, 
grasped  it  till  the  slender  fingers  ached,  stumbled  out 
of  the  room  in  a  bewildered  way,  and  was  gone. 


160  THE   OLD  KNOWLEDGE 

Millicent  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  and 
seeing  nothing,  with  many  phrases  of  the  talk  re- 
framing  themselves  anew  in  her  mind,  intent  in 
thought  upon  the  strange  interview,  when  Marga- 
ret's voice  made  itself  heard. 

"  Isn't  thon  the  quare  man,  miss  ?  What  was  he 
talking  about  in  the  world  all  this  long  time?  He 
lifted  his  cap  off  the  table  thonder  and  away,  and 
not  a  word  out  of  him.  It's  the  quare  man  he  is 
surely." 

Millicent  came  to  herself  with  a  jump.  "  Yes, 
Margaret,  he's  a  queer  man,  and  it's  a  queer  world. 
I  think  I'm  hungry.  Is  dinner  ready  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"  WHAT  are  the  dogs  barking  at  that  way  at  all, 
Hughie?  It  must  surely  be  some  stranger  that's 
feared  to  come  forward." 

Hughie  rose  from  the  deal  table  in  the  dark  cor- 
ner, where  he  and  John  were  sitting  at  their  after- 
noon meal. 

As  he  reached  the  door  he  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  surprise. 

"It's  the  old  woman  that  Owen  Conroy  lives  with. 
Down,  Toby ;  be  quiet,  will  you  ?  "  he  shouted  as 
he  disappeared  out  of  the  door. 

"  Ellen  Dooey !  "  said  John.  "  What  on  the  earth 
will  the  ould  witch  be  coming  after  ?  Sure  she  never 
stirs  out  of  the  house." 

But  Margaret  was  gone  to  the  door  to  receive 
her  visitor. 

"  Is  that  you,  Ellen  ?  Tis  seldom  you  get  this 
length.  Come  forward  to  the  fire." 

A  huddled-up  shape  entered,  a  woman  with  that 
look  of  extreme  age  which  comes  early  in  cold, 
damp  climates  where  rheumatic  pains  soon  bend 


1 62  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

the  back  and  stiffen  the  joints.  A  grey  plaid  shawl 
was  over  her  head,  and  her  clothes  were  vague  and 
dark.  She  took  her  seat  on  the  form  that  ran  along 
the  wall  between  door  and  window  without  a  word, 
except  a  muttered  "  God  save  you."  Margaret 
busied  herself  to  get  a  cup  of  tea  for  her,  and  the 
young  men  rose  and  went  about  their  work.  The 
old  woman  seemed  tongue-tied;  but  Margaret  in 
her  preparations  took  no  notice  till  she  had  provided 
the  tea,  and  then,  plumping  down  in  her  accustomed 
chair,  began  the  conversation. 

"  'Tis  bad  weather  for  the  crops." 

"  Tis  that." 

"  This  rain  will  be  apt  to  bring  the  blight." 

"  Ay,  troth." 

"  Mr.  Conroy  was  telling  me  he  seen  it  away  on 
the  Carrick  side.  Is  he  with  you  yet  ?  " 

At  the  mention  of  his  name  the  old  woman  seemed 
stirred  to  a  vague  activity.  She  fumbled  in  the 
folds  of  her  dress. 

"  He's  away  to  Fanad  the  day.  There's  a  letter 
he  bid  me  send." 

Marrr.ret  took  it  with  some  surprise.  "  'Tis  for 
Miss  Carteret.  She's  away  out  at  the  painting,  now. 
Was  he  wanting  an  answer  ?  " 

"  Not  a  one  of  me  knows." 

"  Sure,"  said  Margaret,  "  he  be  to  want  an  answer 
or  he  wouldn't  be  making  you  travel  all  this  way 
with  it." 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  163 

The  old  woman  was  silent  for  a  minute  before  she 
spoke  again,  nervously. 

"  He  went  away  suddent  like.  There  was  a  tele- 
graph came  for  him;  and  he  wrote  the  note  and  bid 
me  send  it  down." 

"  An'  could  you  not  get  one  that  was  passing  the 
door  to  take  it  ?  "  said  Margaret,  in  wonder. 

The  old  woman  was  silent  for  a  while,  and  she 
looked  intently  at  the  door  into  Millicent's  room. 

"Is  it  in  there  she  stays?"  she  asked  mysteri- 
ously. 

"  Surely,"  Margaret  answered. 

"  An'  she's  not  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  She's  out  at  the  painting,  I'm  telling  you." 

Ellen  Dooey  seemed  to  struggle  with  herself  and 
finally  to  make  a  great  effort.  She  rose  up  and  she 
moved  to  the  creepie-stool  beside  Margaret's  chair 
and  laid  her  hand  on  Margaret's  knee. 

"  Tell  me,  now,  Margaret,  what  sort  of  a  young 
lady  is  she  at  all  ?  " 

"  As  nice  a  young  lady  as  ever  you  seen," 
answered  Margaret. 

Again  the  old  woman  paused  before  she  spoke. 
"  Isn't  it  the  quare  thing  for  her  to  be  coming  over 
here  by  herself  —  a  young  girl,  and  no  one  with 
her?" 

"  Well,  and  if  she  does,"  answered  Margaret, 
"  'tis  for  no  harm,  anyway.  An'  mind  you,  Ellen 
Dooey,  she  knew  well  where  she  was  coming  when 


164  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

she  came  here,  for  didn't  Captain  Duncombe  write 
to  me  about  her?  An'  I  think  them  that  found 
fault  with  her  would  have  little  to  do.  Sure  we 
have  our  notions,  and  the  quality  has  theirs.  She's 
well  respected  in  this  house  anyway,  Ellen  Dooey, 
you  may  know  that." 

The  old  woman  was  reduced  to  silence  by  Marga- 
ret's indignant  championship.  Then  she  muttered 
to  herself  a  few  words  in  Gaelic.  Margaret  fairly 
leapt  at  her. 

"  What's  them  words  you're  saying  ?  Is  it  com- 
ing here  you  are  to  put  spells  on  them  that's  in  my 
house  ?  Here,  Toby !  Here,  Fly !  Be  off  with  you 
out  of  this,  or  I'll  put  the  dogs  on  you." 

Instead  of  moving,  Ellen  Dooey  bent  herself  for- 
ward as  she  stood,  and  began  to  cry  and  wail. 

"  Och !  och !  dear  God !  Och !  och !  to  hear 
that!" 

Margaret  was  touched  with  pity  for  her,  and 
partly  with  fear. 

"  Be  quiet,  then,  Ellen  woman.  I  was  too  quick. 
Sure  I  know  Father  Doyle  says  there's  no  truth  in 
it.  But  what  is  it  at  all  at  all  ?  Speak  out  and  tell 
me.  Sure  you  know  yourself  there's  still  the  talk 
in  the  country  that  you  and  Owen  Conroy  aren't 
like  the  rest  of  us." 

The  old  woman  still  bowed  and  rocked  herself; 
but  words  began  to  come  slowly. 

"  May  the  blessing  of  all  the  saints  be  on  you, 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  165 

then,  Margaret  Coyle.  Sure,  I'm  nothing  but  a 
poor  old  woman,  and  if  himself  has  power  or  not, 
'tis  not  I  that  know  it,  and  'tis  the  power  of  good- 
ness anyway.  But  there's  trouble  on  him,  Margaret, 
and  it's  changed  he  is.  An'  the  people  on  Sunday 
did  be  taunting  me,  and  that  big  girl  of  Quinlan's, 
that  would  be  glad  to  get  him  for  herself,  came  up, 
and,  says  she,  '  So  it's  among  the  quality  that  Owen 
Conroy's  coortin'.  The  likes  of  us  wasn't  good 
enough  for  him.  Runnin'  after  ladies,  he  is.  But 
isn't  it  the  queer  lady  that  would  look  at  the  likes  of 
him,'  says  she.  '  A  lady ! '  she  says ;  and  she  let  a 
laugh  out  of  her." 

Margaret  was  red  with  indignation.  "  Let  her 
come  and  laugh  to  me.  I'll  learn  her  manners,  the 
ugly  lump.  Och,  Ellen,  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to 
you.  'Tis  a  great  hardship  to  have  a  talk  raised 
about  you.  But  sure,  there's  no  sense  at  all  in  that 
kind  of  talk.  Still  and  all,  you  might  speak  to  Mr. 
Conroy,  and  bid  him  not  be  coming." 

"  Is  it  speak  to  him  ?  You  don't  know  the  sort 
of  him,  Margaret.  I  would  sooner  speak  to  the 
priest  at  the  altar." 

"Ay,  he's  the  strange  man,"  said  Margaret. 
"  Sure  the  last  day  he  was  here  —  'tisn't  that  often 
he's  been  here  —  he  sat  in  by  the  fire,  talking  to  me 
and  Miss  Carteret  about  the  bees  and  the  ways  of 
them,  and  it  was  a  fair  wonder  to  listen  to  him. 
Tis  he  has  the  gift,  then!  And  her  taking 


166  THE   OLD    KNOWLEDGE 

him  up  and  putting  questions  to  him —  it  was  a 
wonder  to  hear  them.  And  indeed  now,  Ellen, 
before  that  I  would  be  wondering  to  myself  what 
she  would  want  with  talking  to  him,  but,  says  I 
to  myself,  'tis  no  wonder  any  lady  or  gentleman 
would  be  for  listening  to  a  man  that  spoke  like 
thon." 

The  old  woman  only  rocked  herself  and  wailed, 
"  Och !  och !  the  poor  lad." 

Margaret  was  perplexed.  "  Sure  if  Mr.  Conroy 
hears  there's  talk  about  him,  he'll  quet  coming,"  she 
said. 

Ellen  stretched  out  her  hand  again  to  Margaret's 
knee. 

"  Woman  dear,  the  talk's  bad,  but  it's  worse  nor 
that.  It's  like  a  sickness  on  him.  Sure,  till  he  seen 
her,  it  was  always  the  one  way  with  him ;  he  would 
be  at  the  reading  or  the  drawing,  or  still  sitting 
looking  out  in  front  of  him,  and  his  face  that  happy. 
An'  now  he'll  scarcely  touch  meat  or  drink  —  and 
'twas  little  enough  he  took  any  time  —  and  never 
a  book  in  his  hand,  but  him  walking  up  and  down 
half  the  night,  or  sitting  staring  into  the  fire  and 
stirring  it  to  make  a  blaze.  I  saw  him  the  other 
night  throwing  sticks  on  it,  and  looking  and  looking 
till  the  eyes  were  red  in  his  head  —  and  the  Lord 
knows  what  he  was  looking  to  see  there.  An' 
another  thing,  Margaret  dear,  the  way  he  was  before 
he  would  always  be  drawing  and  drawing  —  " 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  167 

"  Ay,"  said  Margaret,  "  sure  it  was  to  bring  his 
drawings  to  show  her  he  came  first." 

"  Well,  mind  you,  now,  whatever  he'd  draw  he'd 
just  leave  it  lying  there,  or  maybe  stuck  up  against 
the  wall,  and  Father  Doyle  was  quarely  against  him 
for  drawing  the  like,  for,  says  he,  '  Them's  no 
Christian  figures.'  But  now  he'll  draw  for  a  while, 
and  then  tear  the  whole,  or  burn  it,  and  not  let  you 
see  a  sight.  But  sure  one  night  he  got  up  in  the 
middle  of  it  and  left  the  papers,  and  I  slipped  in, 
and  all  he  was  drawing  was  a  hand ;  and  it  was  like 
a  woman's  hand,  Margaret  —  very  fine  in  the 
fingers,  wee  tapering  fingers  and  soft-looking." 

"  Ay,"  said  Margaret,  reflectively,  "  her  hands  is 
wonderful  wee  and  soft." 

Ellen  Dooey  began  to  sob  and  rock  herself  again. 

"  Och !  och !  why  did  she  ever  come  here  ?  Why 
could  she  not  keep  to  herself  and  her  own  kind?  " 

But  Margaret's  partisanship  was  roused.  "  Keep 
to  herself,  woman !  Sure,  what  would  ye  be  think- 
ing ?  Do  ye  tell  me  that  Owen  Conroy,  learned  man 
and  all  he  is,  would  even  the  likes  of  himself  to  her? 
It  would  never  enter  the  mind  of  her  to  think  on 
such  foolishness.  It's  looking  to  see  her  married 
on  young  Mr.  Norman,  I  am,  one  of  these  days; 
him  and  her's  terrible  great.  But  Owen  Conroy, 
that  was  your  sister's  son !  —  I'll  tell  you  what  you'll 
do,  Ellen  Dooey.  Stay  just  the  way  you  are  till 
she  comes  in  herself,  and  ye  see  her  sitting  there  as 


168  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

simple,  and  talking  as  friendly  as  any  of  us,  and  the 
grand  way  with  her  the  whole  time;  and  then  go 
home  and  tell  Owen  Conroy  if  she's  for  him.  Not 
a  word  would  I  say  against  him,  for  he's  a  learned 
man  and  skilful,  and  they  say  he  has  power  over 
things  and  over  folk;  but,  Ellen,  thon  young  lady's 
clean  beyond  him." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DAYS  were  running  smoothly  with  Millicent  now. 
Conroy  had  come  again,  bringing  Margaret's  hive, 
and  talk  had  followed  naturally  and  easily  on  that 
subject,  but  this  time,  as  has  been  seen  already, 
including  Margaret.  And,  if  Millicent  detected  now 
and  then  that  strange  look  of  inner  vision  in  his 
face,  it  made  her  less  uneasy;  Margaret's  presence 
was  a  good  conductor  to  draw  off  the  surcharge  of 
magnetism  in  the  air.  And  on  the  other  days  she 
had  worked  with  great  industry,  once  refusing  to 
be  beguiled  on  to  the  lake  with  Frank,  and  only 
appearing  for  a  brief  moment  by  the  river  bank  to 
scoff  at  his  empty-handed  return.  He  took  the  hint 
and  kept  away,  and  Millicent  was  not  more  than 
half  grateful.  She  knew  vaguely  how  much  pleasure 
it  gave  her  to  see  his  face  light  up  when  they  met. 
Finally,  she  grew  restless,  and,  a  fine  morning  com- 
ing, she  set  out  on  her  bicycle,  aiming  to  make  a 
circuit  of  the  lake. 

Frank,  for  his  part,  was  undisguisedly  discon- 
tented.   Fishing  days  came  and  went,  the  river  was 
169 


170  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

low,  and  he  reasoned  with  himself  that  it  was  per- 
fectly unreasonable  to  keep  away  from  Lough 
Drummond.  It  was  four  afternoons  now  since  he 
had  seen  her  even  for  that  little  minute.  Margaret's 
boats  were  for  hire;  why  should  he  not  hire  them? 
Under  ordinary  circumstances,  he  told  himself,  he 
would  have  been  on  the  lough  every  day  in  the  week. 
Nothing  kept  him  away  but  this  absurd  over-sensi- 
tiveness. He  did  not  like  to  go  without  asking  her 
to  join  him ;  he  did  not  like  to  seem  to  force  his  com- 
pany upon  her. 

Finally,  on  the  fifth  day,  fishing  was  out  of  the 
question ;  he  plainly  had  no  excuse.  Uneasy  in  him- 
self, after  lounging  through  the  forenoon,  he  set 
out  on  his  bicycle,  and  took  automatically  the  direc- 
tion of  Lough  Drummond.  He  passed  the  first 
bridge  and  held  on  the  road,  meditating  in  himself. 
There  was  no  reason  at  least  why  he  should  not  pass 
Margaret's  door  and  make  an  errand  to  Killydon- 
nell.  But  when  he  came  to  the  branching  of  the 
road,  where  it  turned  to  the  left  for  the  long  circular 
sweep  through  bog-land  to  the  fringe  of  the  lake,  he 
swore  at  himself  for  a  fool.  Was  he  to  go  hanging 
about  on  chance  of  a  glimpse  of  the  girl?  She 
would  only  laugh  if  she  saw  him.  He  swerved  to 
the  right,  crossed  the  river  by  another  bridge,  and 
the  road  took  him  by  a  straight,  sharp  rise  to  the 
foot  of  a  long  ascent  slanting  up  the  side  of  the  hill. 

Just  at  the  bend  a  decrepit-looking  old  woman 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  171 

was  shouldering,  with  an  effort,  a  sack  that  lay  on 
the  ground.  Frank,  who  had  jumped  off  at  the 
rise,  was  touched  with  the  dumb  resignation  of  her 
gesture,  and  he  stopped  beside  her,  exchanging 
greetings. 

"  What  had  she  there?  "  he  asked. 

"  Just  a  wheen  potaties  they  gave  me  down  by 
there  in  the  town." 

She  did  not  ask  him  for  anything.  Except  where 
the  tourist  frequents,  those  who  live  on  charity  in 
Ireland  seldom  ask  it  by  the  wayside  or  of  strangers. 
They  beg,  or  rather  they  collect  alms,  from  houses 
where  they  are  known:  here  and  there  a  sixpence 
from  the  gentlefolks;  but  odds  and  ends  of  food 
from  the  poor,  and  the  poor  are  their  main  de- 
pendence. 

"  Is  it  far  off  you  live  ?  " 

"  I'm  the  widdy  McCormick,  your  honour,  out 
of  Ballylough." 

Frank  knew  the  group  of  houses  about  a  mile 
further  up  the  hill. 

"  That's  a  heavy  sack  you  have  with  you  ?  " 

"  'Deed  then,  it  is.  May  the  blessing  be  on  them 
that  filled  it  for  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  "  it  will  be  handier  taking 
it  on  wheels.  I'll  leave  you  up  as  far  as  Bally- 
lough." 

He  balanced  the  sack  on  his  saddle  amid  the  old 
woman's  protestations,  and  began  to  push  the  ma- 


172  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

chine  up,  talking  the  invariable  countryside  talk  — 
the  crops,  the  bad  weather,  the  hard  times.  But  at 
the  next  bend  of  the  road  a  figure  came  in  sight  —  a 
girl  sailing  swiftly  down  the  hill  on  her  bicycle. 
Frank  had  time  to  grow  shame- faced,  and  wonder 
if  he  looked  a  fool,  and  to  curse  his  luck,  before  she 
shot  past  him  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  and  a  word 
of  greeting. 

Here  was  the  meeting  he  had  hoped  against  hope 
for,  and  it  found  him  tied  and  bound  to  an  old 
woman  and  a  sack  of  potatoes.  And  the  old  woman 
was  continually  overwhelming  with  thanks,  and 
imploring  him  not  to  trouble  himself  further.  Why 
should  he  go  on,  he  was  asking  himself.  It  was 
only  a  sort  of  superstition;  but  the  superstition  re- 
fused to  yield  to  his  reasonings.  And  so  he  crawled 
obdurately  on,  keeping  to  the  old  woman's  snail- 
pace,  while  he  pictured  every  instant  the  girl's  swift 
flight  away  from  him.  It  was  five  minutes  to  the 
top  of  the  hill  —  five  minutes  that  seemed  an  hour. 
Millicent,  with  the  hill  and  the  level  road  beyond, 
must  be  a  good  half  of  the  way  to  Margaret's.  To 
pursue  was  absurd  —  imbecile,  ridiculous. 

So  he  reasoned  till  the  cottage  came  in  sight. 
Then  he  laid  the  sack  down  outside  the  door  of  the 
old  woman's  house,  put  a  shilling  into  her  hand, 
and,  to  her  blank  amazement,  turned  his  machine 
down  the  hill  again,  and  was  out  of  earshot  of  her 
voluble  blessings  in  a  second. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  173 

The  hedges  were  a  streak  of  green  as  the  wheels 
spun  and  the  pedals  whirled;  the  intoxication  of 
pace  possessed  him  while  he  reckoned  in  his  mind 
each  furlong  before  him  of  the  well-known  road. 
She  must  be  somewhere  on  the  circling  sweep;  but 
was  she  this  side  of  the  bog  or  the  other?  There 
was  a  patch  full  of  common  loose-strife  and  mead- 
ow-sweet. Last  time  he  had  been  at  Margaret's  the 
house  was  full  of  the  mingled  spikes  and  clusters. 
Perhaps  she  might  have  stopped  to  gather  more 
to-day.  If  so  — 

Then,  as  he  shot  madly  round  the  last  corner,  and 
swung  over  to  counteract  the  bend,  the  bridge  was 
before  him,  and  there,  standing  peacefully  on  it  and 
looking  at  the  water,  was  a  girl  in  a  white  blouse 
and  blue  skirt. 

The  twenty  yards  of  steep  drop  sent  him  past  her 
like  a  hurricane,  the  machine  leaping  under  him  at 
the  hog-back  of  the  bridge,  and  the  devil  which  gets 
into  the  body  of  a  bicycle  that  has  been  allowed  to 
get  out  of  hand  downhill,  took  him  a  hundred  yards 
before  it  was  subdued,  and  he  could  wheel  and  come 
back,  feeling  that  his  weaknesses  were  all  discov- 
ered. 

"  Well !  For  a  person  who  preaches  caution  to 
me ! "  said  Millicent,  nodding  her  head  at  him. 
"  You  climb  up  hills  simply  to  have  the  fun  of  going 
down  them.  And  you  won't  let  me.  I  came  down 
that  hill  with  all  sorts  of  good  advice  in  my  head. 


i74  THE   OLD  KNOWLEDGE 

But  in  future  I'm  going  to  follow  your  ex- 
ample." 

"  Oh,"  said  Frank,  vaguely,  "  it's  different  when 
you  know  the  roads."  Then,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  Besides,  you  know,  I  don't  defend  that  ex- 
ample. Only,  I  was  rather  in  a  hurry." 

"  Were  you  ?  Were  you  thinking  you  would  be 
late  for  afternoon  tea  ?  You  seemed  to  have  plenty 
of  time  to  spare  just  now.  But  if  you  are  in  a 
hurry,  don't  let  me  keep  you." 

"  I'm  not  in  a  hurry  —  now,"  said  Frank,  with  a 
laugh,  looking  at  her. 

She  looked  back  and  laughed  too.  "  You  ridicu- 
lous person.  If  you  wanted  to  see  me,  why  didn't 
you  tell  me  to  stop.  I  believe  you  were  afraid  of 
being  laughed  at." 

"  I  believe  I  was/'  said  Frank.  "  Anyhow,  I  was 
afraid." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  be.  You  shan't  be  laughed 
at.  Come  here  and  look  at  the  little  fishes.  I  saw 
quite  a  big  one  just  now.  Look  —  there  he  is." 

Frank  stared  over  into  the  clear  brown  water, 
lightly  rippled  by  the  break  below  some  large  stones, 
and  full  of  waving  weeds. 

"  I  see,"  he  said.  "  What  will  you  bet  me  I  don't 
catch  him?  I  have  my  rod." 

"  Box  of  cigarettes,"  returned  Millicent,  promptly. 

"Has  Margaret  found  you  out  yet?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 


THE  OLD  KNOWLEDGE  175 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not.  Hughie  did  the  other  day, 
when  I  was  out  sketching;  but  I  swore  him  to 
secrecy.  I  don't  believe  Margaret  would  mind  now, 
though ;  she's  got  used  to  me." 

"  Well,  you  can  smoke  a  cigarette  now,  while 
I'm  putting  up  the  rod,"  said  Frank ;  "  and  it's  more 
comfortable  in  here." 

They  went  into  the  field  above  the  bridge,  Frank 
a  little  desirous  to  show  off  his  skill,  but  chiefly  con- 
cerned for  a  pretext  to  keep  Millicent  with  him. 
The  rod  was  got  ready,  the  finest  cast  put  up,  and 
Frank,  using  infinite  precautions  to  screen  himself, 
got  to  the  water,  and  in  a  couple  of  casts  covered 
the  eddy  where  the  trout  was  lying,  and  where  the 
shadow  of  the  bridge  defeated  the  sun's  glare.  He 
was  justified  of  his  faith.  There  was  a  rise,  and  he 
had  hooked  the  trout;  and  in  a  few  minutes  it  was 
being  drawn  cautiously  into  a  little  creek  in  the 
bank. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  would  you  like  to  try?  It's 
bright,  but  this  is  a  first-rate  piece  of  water  just 
above.  Let's  go  up  and  fish  it  down." 

Millicent,  fired  with  emulation,  was  nothing  loath ; 
but  though  she  fished  the  broad,  sunshiny  stretch 
of  swirling  water  with  the  best  of  her  will  and  skill, 
it  produced  nothing  but  two  or  three  tiny  finger- 
lings,  which  were  jerked  out  summarily  and  restored 
to  think  over  their  folly. 

"  Oh,  I  give  it  up,"  she  said  at  last. 


1 76  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  Let's  sit  down,"  Frank  suggested ;  "  there 
might  be  a  cloud  up  presently.  Tell  me  what  you've 
been  doing.  Is  the  portrait  of  Margaret  getting 
on?" 

"  No,"  said  Millicent,  as  she  settled  herself  on  a 
slope  of  the  bank ;  "  but  there  was  a  wonderful  old 
creature  who  came  in  the  other  night.  She  wouldn't 
talk,  but  she  sat  in  the  corner,  and  she  glowered  out 
of  the  dark  in  an  uncanny  sort  of  way.  Ellen 
Dooey  was  her  name,  Margaret  said;  but  when  I 
wanted  her  to  ask  the  woman  if  she  would  sit,  Mar- 
garet didn't  seem  to  take  to  the  notion." 

"  Ellen  Dooey  ?  Why,  that's  the  old  woman  who 
keeps  house  for  Conroy." 

"  Does  she  ?  "  said  Millicent,  looking  a  little  puz- 
zled. "Of  course;  she  brought  a  note  from  Mr. 
Conroy.  But  how  extraordinary  of  Margaret  not 
to  tell  me." 

"  I  think  I  know  why,"  Frank  answered.  "  Most 
likely  she  was  afraid  you  would  ask  Conroy  to  get 
her  to  sit,  and  she  doesn't  want  Ellen  about  the 
house." 

"  But  why  not?  "  the  girl  asked. 

"  Because  she  thinks  she's  a  witch." 

"  Oh,  but  I  must  get  her,  then.  Of  course  she's 
a  witch.  She  looks  it,  all  over.  It  would  be  simply 
splendid.  Who  on  earth  is  she?  " 

"  She's  Conroy's  aunt." 

Millicent  was  struck  dumb  for  an  instant.    "  What 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  177 

do  you  mean  ?  "  she  said.  "  That  old  woman  — 
Mr.  Conroy's  aunt !  But  you  said  she  was  his  ser- 
vant. Why,  there's  a  whole  world  between  them." 

"  She  was  his  mother's  sister,"  Frank  answered. 

"  And  I  might  have  offered  her  half  a  crown, 
and  thought  I  was  doing  her  a  kindness.  Good 
heavens !  What  a  blessing  Margaret  stopped  me ! 
I  suppose  she  thought  I  would  feel  awkward  if  she 
explained." 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  that,"  said  Frank. 

"  But,  of  course,  it  was  that.  Why,  how  stupid 
you  are !  Don't  you  see !  Mr.  Conroy  is  my  friend, 
and  he's  a  genius  —  he's  miles  above  people  like  you 
and  me  —  and  this  woman  is  his  near  relation.  If 
I'd  offered  her  money,  I  could  simply  never  have 
looked  him  in  the  face  again." 

"  I  see,"  said  Frank.  But  his  heart  was  sore  in 
him,  and  he  thought  he  saw  far  more  than  he  de- 
sired to  see.  "  You  know,"  he  went  on,  "  I  told 
you  Conroy  was  a  peasant." 

"  Yes,  yes.  But  one  doesn't  realize.  He  seemed 
so  different  from  all  of  them  —  unlike  anybody  here 
or  anywhere  else.  It  was  as  if  he  had  sprung  out  of 
the  ground." 

"  That  old  woman  was  his  mother's  sister,"  said 
Frank,  doggedly.  He  was  determined  to  drive  the 
facts  home,  anyhow. 

Millicent  gave  a  sort  of  shudder.  "Why,"  she 
said,  "  she  wasn't  even  clean."  Then  she  turned 

N 


178  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

sharply  on  Frank.  "  Is  Mr.  Conroy  ashamed  of 
her?" 

It  seemed  to  him  more  and  more  evident  that 
only  one  cause  could  account  for  this  eagerness,  and 
he  cursed  inwardly  the  day  when  he  had  ever  men- 
tioned Conroy 's  name  to  her. 

"  No,"  he  said,  ungraciously  enough,  "  not  that 
I  know  of.  I  never  saw  him  show  any  signs  of 
thinking  about  it  either  way.  He  told  me  once  that 
he  got  most  of  his  knowledge  of  the  old  stories  and 
folk-lore  from  her  and  from  his  mother." 

"  That's  very  fine  of  him,"  said  Millicent. 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  while, 
and  she  was  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts 
to  notice  the  constraint  of  Frank's  manner. 

"  Go  on  telling  me,"  she  said  at  last.  "  What's 
this  story  about  her  being  a  witch  ?  " 

"  A  pack  of  nonsense.  She  and  Conroy  came 
when  he  settled  here,  and  she  speaks  Irish  mostly. 
They  all  about  here  have  a  notion  that  the  Gaelic 
speakers  and  the  '  mountainy  people '  are  apt  to 
have  queer  ways.  So  far  as  I  heard,  Ellen  Dooey 
had  a  quarrel  with  another  woman,  and  lost  her 
temper,  and  scolded  her  in  Irish;  and  the  woman 
was  sure  she  was  bewitched,  and  a  few  days  after 
her  butter  wouldn't  come  in  the  churn,  so  she  blamed 
it  on  Ellen.  And  Conroy  heard  this,  and  went 
down,  and  found  the  cow  was  sick  and  gave  her 
something,  and  after  that  there  was  no  more  bother 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  179 

with  the  milk.  So  the  end  was  that  he  got  the  name 
of  being  a  good  witch  and  she  of  being  a  bad  one. 
And  of  course  the  people  like  Margaret  partly  be- 
lieve and  partly  disbelieve,  but  at  the  bottom  of  their 
hearts  they  all  believe  in  all  these  things.  And  you 
know,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  that  made  an  effort 
after  indifference,  "  when  you  see  Conroy  handling 
a  lump  of  bees  as  if  they  were  so  much  brown  sugar 
it  does  look  like  magic." 

But  Millicent  took  no  notice  of  his  tone.  She 
was  deep  in  thought,  and  her  eyes  were  far 
away. 

"Poor  Mr.  Conroy,"  she  said  at  last;  "it  must 
be  dreadful  to  be  isolated  like  that." 

"  I  never  saw  anything  to  pity  in  Conroy,"  he 
answered  brusquely.  "  He  always  seemed  to  me 
as  contented  as  a  Sister  of  Mercy." 

There  was  nothing  in  the  words  to  take  hold  of, 
but  Millicent  felt  the  note  of  hostility,  and  she  was 
quick  to  resent  it.  Her  admiration  for  Conroy 
would  have  made  her  his  champion  in  any  case ;  but 
it  was  not  only  that.  She  felt  in  him  the  pride  of  a 
discoverer,  that  keen  partisanship  known  to  all  who 
love  the  arts  for  some  unacknowledged  talent,  and 
the  partisanship  was  made  into  a  closer  loyalty  by 
his  undisguised  worship  of  herself  as  a  woman  — 
as  a  comrade  more  sympathetic  than  a  man  could  be. 
Just  because  she  admitted  to  herself  nothing  but 
comradeship  on  either  side,  she  was  the  more  em- 


i8o  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

phatic  in  his  defence.  Comradeship  was  nothing 
that  should  be  concealed. 

And  at  the  back  of  her  mind,  unacknowledged, 
lay  a  revolt  against  the  challenge  that  was  unspoken 
in  the  young  man's  words  but  discovered  in  his 
tone.  He  had  no  right  to  resent  her  friendship. 

"  I  don't  think  you  understand  Mr.  Conroy,"  she 
answered  stiffly.  "  Your  comparison  shows  that." 

As  she  spoke,  she  watched  covertly  a  look  of  pain 
pass  across  his  face,  and  a  pain  in  her  own  heart 
answered  it.  She  was  angry  with  herself.  Why 
should  she  be  sorry  because  he  was  absurd,  she 
thought.  And  with  her  revolt  against  the  pain 
came  a  definite  impulse  to  wound,  that  increased 
as  his  features  set  themselves  to  an  assumed  com- 
posure. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  that  made  her 
angrier;  and  his  words  completed  the  offence. 

"  I  dare  say  I  have  not  given  him  so  much  thought 
as  you  have." 

For  all  his  show  of  indifference,  it  was  spoken 
awkwardly,  in  a  tone  that  she  was  entitled  to  declare 
war  upon.  She  sat  up  straight,  alert,  tense,  com- 
batant. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  mean?  I  don't  like  people 
to  hint  things." 

He,  as  he  lay  stretched  on  the  turf,  avoided  her 
eyes,  and  his  fingers  tore  nervously  at  a  clump  of 
rushes. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  181 

"  If  you  like  to  force  a  meaning  you  can.  I  mean 
that  I  am  glad  you  have  seen  that  old  woman  — 
Ellen  Dooey.  It  will  help  you  to  realize  the  exist- 
ence of  natural  barriers." 

A  gust  of  rage  swept  up  in  Millicent.  She  hated 
him  for  saying  this.  It  was  not  only  that  she  re- 
sented the  implied  warning  as  an  interference  quite 
unjustified ;  it  was  the  thing  said,  the  point  of  view, 
that  seemed  to  her  wholly  unworthy.  And  yet,  even 
in  her  anger,  she  did  not  accuse  him  to  herself  of 
using  unfair  weapons;  she  guessed  at  a  genuine 
anxiety  for  her.  But  the  whole  assumption  was 
one  that  she  detested  —  this  application  of  a  narrow 
conventional  standard.  She  had  thought  better  of 
him,  she  said  to  herself,  and  she  was  not  going  to 
conceal  her  displeasure. 

"  The  only  barriers  that  I  admit  are  in  people 
themselves,"  she  said.  "  And  you  are  helping  me 
to  realize  how  very  difficult  it  is  for  me  to  be  friends 
with  you." 

She  got  up  as  she  spoke,  and  Frank  rose  also. 
He  was  perfectly  silent.  The  sun  was  bright  still, 
and  the  river  flashed  in  it,  running  with  its 
pleasant  noise  towards  the  shadow  of  the  bridge, 
and  out  of  it  to  the  race  beyond;  but  the  day  was 
changed  for  them  to  the  blackness  of  east  wind  in 
March. 

She  was  angry  with  him  because  he  did  not  speak  ; 
it  was  as  if  his  offending  continued.  She  wished  he 


182  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

would  speak;  she  did  not  want  him  to  go  away  like 
that.  When  they  had  reached  the  bridge,  and  he 
had  pushed  her  bicycle  through  the  gap  into  the 
road,  he  spoke  at  last  in  a  voice  of  formal  con- 
straint. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  ought  not  to  have  said 
that.  I  see  I  was  stupid." 

But  the  stiffness  of  his  tone  made  her  rigid. 

"I'm  not  angry  —  only  sorry.     Good-bye." 

She  was  mounting  her  bicycle  when  he  stopped 
her,  putting  his  hand  on  the  machine. 

"  Wait,"  he  said,  in  a  choked  voice.  "  Ah, 
wait." 

Something  in  her  told  her  that  the  strain  was  near 
breaking-point,  and  her  courage  failed. 

"  No ;  I  can't  talk  any  more.  Not  to-day.  Good- 
bye. It  doesn't  matter,  really." 

She  was  gone,  leaving  him  lugubrious;  in  his 
hand  still  the  poor  little  trout  that  Millicent  had 
promised  to  eat  for  her  supper.  It  was  all  stiff  now, 
sun-baked,  and  ugly ;  an  hour  ago  it  had  been  glossy, 
supple,  and  many-coloured  when  he  drew  it  from  the 
water.  Things  changed  fast.  The  world  was  black 
in  his  eyes.  Whether  she  cared  for  Conroy  or  no  he 
could  not  tell ;  but  it  was  plain  he  had  offended  be- 
yond forgiving. 

And  still  in  her  last  words  there  had  lingered 
some  heart  of  hope.  "  Not  to-day,"  she  had 
said. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  183 

Before  he  had  left  the  bridge,  Millicent  was  back 
in  her  little  room,  and  had  thrown  herself  on  the 
bed,  and  cried,  cried,  and  cried. 

He  had  been  hateful,  she  told  herself.  She  was 
angry  with  him  still.  But  she  —  what  was  it  in  her 
that  made  her  so  cruel  to  him?  She  hated  giving 
pain,  and  yet  him  she  could  not  resist  hurting.  The 
only  thing  she  regretted  —  the  only  thing  that  she 
would  have  had  otherwise  —  was  that  at  the  end  she 
had  not  kept  up  her  tone.  He  might  have  thought 
she  was  sorry  for  what  she  had  said;  it  would  be 
dreadful  if  he  thought  that.  He  had  apologized 
formally  —  she  had  formally  accepted  his  apology. 
So  it  should  have  ended. 

But  further  down  in  her  heart  another  voice  was 
speaking.  He,  too,  had  broken  the  constraint. 
"  Wait,"  he  had  said ;  "  ah  wait !  "  And  she  had 
not  waited.  She  wondered  what  he  was  going  to 
say.  Would  he  ever  say  it?  And  what  must  she 
say,  if  that  were  what  he  said  ? 

So  she  tossed  about,  this  untamed  creature,  hear- 
ing sharp  in  her  ears  the  girlish  cry  of  revolt,  that 
was  half  pride,  half  shyness,  or  wholly  love  of  free- 
dom; yet,  vaguely  beyond  and  below  that,  discern- 
ing the  voice  of  her  womanhood  that  cried  to  her  to 
achieve  her  life's  end  by  surrender :  quick  to  be  of- 
fended by  anything  or  nothing  in  the  man  to  whom 
her  heart,  in  spite  of  her,  as  she  knew  already, 
would  forgive  all. 


CHAPTER  XV 

BUT  Frank,  as  is  the  way  of  nature,  had  no  glimpse 
of  what  allies  fought  for  him.  He  was  plunged 
deep  in  misery  —  the  extravagant  misery  of  youth. 
He  spent  long  hours  over  sheets  of  paper  trying  to 
defend,  to  justify,  to  excuse  himself.  But  the  more 
he  tried,  the  more  difficult  it  seemed  to  do  any  of 
these  things  without  renewing  the  offence.  "  If  I 
thought  that  what  you  are  doing  would  be  for  your 
happiness,  I  would  not  consider  myself."  That  was 
either  too  much  or  too  little.  It  was  better  to  say 
all. 

And  so  he  determined  to  say  all.  It  was  a  solace 
to  pour  out  his  heart  into  the  passionate  words  that 
would  not  come  from  his  lips.  He  asked  for  noth- 
ing: he  only  spoke  out. 

"  You  are  all  this  to  me,  and  so  much  more,"  he 
wrote,  "  and  even  if  it  means  nothing  to  you  to  hear 
it,  still  you  shall  hear." 

And  so,  having  unburdened  his  soul,  he  slept. 
But  with  the  morning  came  reflection.  He  would 
send  this  letter;  she  would  answer  it.  If  what  he 
184 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  185 

feared  was  true,  there  was  an  end  of  everything. 
He  could  not  see  her  again  to  have  free  speech  with 
her.  Living,  as  she  was,  by  herself,  he  could  not 
importune  her  with  entreaties.  It  was  too  high 
a  stake.  If  he  went  otherwise  to  work,  Fate 
might  allow  him  at  worst  a  few  more  hours  of 
the  sunshine.  He  burnt  the  letter,  and  wrote 
simply :  — 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  I  ought  not  to  have  said 
that.  May  I  come  and  see  you  again?  " 

He  addressed  the  letter  —  but  how  to  send  it? 
He  could  not  take  it  himself ;  if  it  came  by  a  messen- 
ger, Margaret  would  know  and  wonder.  But  if  he 
left  it  to  the  post  —  this  was  Saturday  morning. 
She  would  get  it  on  Sunday;  and  he  would  receive 
at  soonest  on  Monday  the  answer  that  a  couple  of 
hours  could  bring. 

Half  of  that  day  went  in  debating  the  question, 
and  formality  prevailed.  The  letter  went  by  post, 
and  there  was  Sunday  to  be  lived  through. 

Not  wishing  to  entrust  it  to  the  Ballinderry  post- 
bag,  and  face  inevitable  comment,  Frank  made  his 
way  to  the  neighbouring  post-town.  There,  pla- 
cards announced  a  meeting  of  the  latest  agrarian 
league,  to  be  held  the  following  day,  after  mass,  at 
Ardcolumb.  A  version  of  the  announcement  in 
Gaelic  testified  to  the  growth  of  a  new  propaganda. 
Frank,  at  all  times  interested  in  Irish  politics,  now 
welcomed  a  chance  to  kill  the  hours. 


i86  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

And  so,  the  next  morning  found  him  on  his  way 
to  the  lovely  group  of  lakes  from  whence,  ten  miles 
above  Lough  Drummond,  the  Owenbeg  had  its  rise. 
Heading  away  from  Margaret's  cottage,  and  its  in- 
mate, he  struck  the  valley  far  up  among  the  hills, 
and  followed  up  long  curving  gradients,  while  be- 
low, on  his  right,  the  river  dashed  and  leapt  down 
precipitous  channels.  Now  he  was  at  the  valley 
head,  and  thick  belts  of  trees  showed  the  shel- 
tered hollow  in  the  mountains,  and  presently  the 
first  and  largest  lake  was  in  sight,  studded  with 
many  islands.  Not  here  was  the  meeting-place. 
He  followed  a  road  thronged  by  many  peasants  in 
their  Sunday  clothes,  and  passed  another  loop  of 
river  joining  the  great  lough  to  a  little  tarn  ringed 
about  with  feathery  reeds,  and  starry  with  water- 
lilies  white  and  yellow.  Then  up  again,  climbing 
the  steep  rise  of  road  on  to  a  hillside,  green  but  scant 
of  trees,  to  where  above  the  third  and  highest  of  the 
lakes  the  crowd  streamed,  gathering  thick  about  an 
old  ruin.  It  was  the  ruin  of  a  church,  tiny,  but 
strong  built,  and  of  immemorial  sanctity.  For 
here  had  been  born  the  greatest,  after  Patrick,  of 
Irish  saints  —  Columba,  the  "  dove  of  the  churches," 
whose  coming  Patrick  had  foretold,  and  left  to  him 
the  preaching  of  the  gospel  in  Tyrconnell.  Here  he 
had  been  born,  and  here,  in  after  days,  he  had  built 
the  chapel.  It  was  a  place  of  pilgrimage,  conse- 
crated by  many  traditions ;  a  place  of  memories  and 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  187 

of  the  dead.  Fenced  by  a  wall,  just  above  the  ruined 
chapel,  was  a  graveyard  —  common  resting-place  of 
all  in  that  countryside.  The  ground  rose  so  steeply 
that  nearly  all  the  enclosure  was  visible  from  below ; 
and,  within  it  for  a  central  figure,  standing  on  a 
great  tombstone,  was  the  orator  of  the  day.  His 
audience  —  some  hundreds  of  them  —  were  grouped 
inside  round  the  gravestone  and  downwards  to  the 
wall,  and  outside  again  on  the  little  knoll  on  which 
the  remnant  of  the  chapel  perched  itself.  Frank 
recognized  the  speaker  —  one  whose  face  and  name 
were  known  through  the  length  and  breadth  of 
Ireland.  But,  at  the  same  instant,  he  recognized  a 
figure  of  far  other  concern  to  him  —  a  tall  girl,  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  leaning  against  the  chapel 
wall. 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  went  up  to  her, 
raising  his  hat.  She  started  and  flushed,  but  the 
look  in  her  face  reassured  him.  Joy  was  in  his 
heart,  but  his  words  came  formally. 

"  I  did  not  think  of  finding  you  here." 

"  So  he  had  not  gone  to  look  for  me  at  Marga- 
ret's," Millicent  inferred  within  herself.  "  And 
I  had  thought  he  had  come  after  me."  After  that 
she  was  not  going  to  make  things  too  easy  for 
him. 

"  Naturally,"  was  all  she  answered,  in  a  very  non- 
committal tone.  Should  she  let  him  see  that  she  was 
glad  to  see  him?  That  must  depend. 


188  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

His  eyes  scrutinized  her  face  a  moment,  then 
turned  away  in  embarrassment. 

"  Did  you  get  my  letter?  " 

She  nodded,  with  an  enigmatic  meaning  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Is  it  all  right  ?  You  aren't  angry  with  me  for 
turning  up  here?" 

She  gave  him  her  frankest  smile.  "  I'm  very 
glad,"  she  almost  whispered.  Then,  hurriedly, 
"  Don't  talk  any  more;  I  want  to  listen.  Isn't  he 
wonderful  ?  " 

And,  indeed,  the  speaker,  always  eloquent,  was 
that  day,  in  these  surroundings,  and  in  all  the  fer- 
vour of  a  rising  propaganda,  at  his  very  finest.  He 
was  telling  them  of  the  progress  of  the  movement 
and  its  onward  sweep;  how,  in  all  mortal  things, 
there  was  the  ebb  and  the  flow,  the  rush  and  the  re- 
coil of  the  wave ;  how,  wave  after  wave,  the  national 
cause  through  a  century  had  swept  forward,  and 
wave  after  wave  spent  itself,  yet  each  attained  some 
foot  of  ground.  The  tide  was  always  rising,  he  said, 
and  at  the  last  the  limit  would  be  reached,  the  bar- 
rier would  be  overwhelmed.  And  the  new  wave 
that  was  gathering,  drawing  them  into  itself,  the 
wave  that  they  helped  to  swell,  was  a  greater,  fiercer, 
and  stronger  wave  than  any  that  had  gone  before 
it;  let  them  add  every  man  his  single  impetus,  and 
surely  before  the  surge  was  spent  they  would  have 
swept  all  before  them. 


THE   OLD  KNOWLEDGE  189 

"  They  have  all  said  that,"  said  Frank  in  an  aside 
to  Millicent. 

"  What  matter  ?  "  she  answered,  in  her  excite- 
ment. "  They  go  on." 

She  was  new  to  such  speaking,  to  the  easy  fluency, 
the  dexterous  management  of  voice,  so  unlike  the 
hemming  and  stumbling  of  most  English  addresses ; 
and  at  the  end,  the  tremendous  rolling  period  with 
which  the  orator  closed  fairly  carried  her  off  her 
feet. 

But  the  next  speaker  was  of  a  very  different  order, 
and  he  wearied  her  with  his  array  of  figures,  rents 
and  prices,  his  statistics  of  valuations,  land-court  de- 
cisions, and  law  costs;  and  her  attention  turned  to 
the  audience,  who  followed  so  keenly,  catching  up 
and  applauding  every  point. 

A  few  women,  with  their  shawled  heads,  grouped 
near  about  the  chapel,  alone  broke  the  monotony  of 
colour ;  the  men  were  all  black  or  grey  coated,  dark 
haired  for  the  most  part,  tall,  gaunt,  and  high  cheek- 
boned;  melancholy  faces,  with  downward  lines 
drawn  heavily  on  cheek  and  temple.  And  as  Milli- 
cent looked  at  their  faces  and  figures,  she  began  to 
realize  that,  with  the  difference  of  a  little  better 
nourishment,  a  little  less  manual  labour,  here  was 
the  type  on  which  Owen  Conroy  had  been  moulded. 
His  father  must  have  been  such  a  one.  As  for  his 
mother,  the  slight  girl  who  stood  near  her,  graceful 
now  and  even  pretty  in  the  freshness  of  her  com- 


IQO  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

plexion,  was  yet  surely  destined  to  turn  hard-feat- 
ured and  weather-beaten,  like  the  rest;  and  perhaps 
in  the  end,  when  time  had  done  its  work,  to  be  such 
another  crone  as  Ellen  Dooey. 

The  second  speaker  ended. 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  said  Millicent.    "  I  hated  him." 

"  They  were  to  have  some  one  to  speak  in  Gaelic," 
said  Frank;  "probably  that  will  be  the  next  turn. 
No;  it's  McManus  again." 

The  orator  was  on  the  grey  slab  of  granite  again. 

"  They  say  we  in  Ireland  have  too  long  memories. 
I  do  not  think  it;  but  anyway,  one  thing  we  have 
nearly  forgotten  —  the  tongue  of  our  fathers.  It 
was  strange  to  myself  in  my  childhood,  and  I  am 
not  rightly  skilful  with  it  yet.  But  there  are  those 
of  you  here,  and  many  of  you,  that  have  spoken  no 
other  in  your  homes,  and  it  is  time  that  we  spoke  to 
you  in  the  language  of  your  hearts." 

Cheers  had  broken  in  again  and  again  on  his 
words  —  wild  acclamations  in  Gaelic.  And  as  he 
ended  with  a  sentence  or  two  in  that  tongue,  the 
crowd  at  his  feet  parted,  and  he  gave  his  hand  to  a 
man  coming  out  from  the  inner  side  of  the  wall,  who 
sprang  up  upon  the  stone.  It  was  Conroy. 

Frank  turned  sick  at  heart.  So  this  was  why  she 
had  come.  "  Did  you  come  with  him?  "  was  on  the 
tip  of  his  tongue. 

But  Millicent  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  dancing  with 
laughter. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  191 

"  This  is  a  day  of  surprises.  Do  you  think  Mar- 
garet is  sitting  somewhere'  round  that  corner,  and  is 
Colonel  Lisle  going  to  speak  next?  " 

Frank's  face  cleared  instantly.  "  I'll  answer  for 
the  colonel.  I  didn't  venture  to  break  it  to  him  that 
I  was  coming  here." 

The  speech  began,  slowly  and  in  level  utterance, 
listened  to  in  silence. 

"  I  wish  I  understood/'  whispered  Millicent. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Frank.  "  It's  a  fine  tongue  to 
speak  in.  Aren't  the  vowels  splendid  ?  " 

Conroy's  face,  grey  and  impassive  as  the  granite, 
was  in  strange  contrast  to  those  that  they  had  seen 
before.  But  his  voice  had  a  ringing  quality,  and 
Frank  realized,  as  he  listened,  the  reserve  both  of 
emphasis  and  gesture.  The  audience  followed  him 
in  deep  attention,  as  if  at  a  religious  rite;  but  now 
and  then  a  guttural  note  of  assent  from  one  of  the 
mountain  men  broke  in  upon  the  measured  words. 
Gradually  the  voice  took  tones  that  Frank  had  never 
heard  in  it,  but  Millicent  recognized  them.  Conroy's 
eyes  ranged  over  the  audience,  as  he  began  to  gain 
command  of  it.  Then  a  sudden  alteration  passed 
over  his  face;  he  hesitated  and  stumbled  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  He  sees  you,"  Frank  muttered. 

The  face  relapsed  into  its  impassivity,  like  a  mask, 
but  the  voice  took  on  fresh  range  of  tone.  The 
words  came,  not  quick  and  quicker,  but  slower,  more 


192  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

emphatic,  detaching  themselves.     A  woman  began 
to  weep  audibly. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  understood !  "  said  Millicent. 

But  Frank's  ear  caught  the  repetition  of  a  word. 
"  Eithne  —  he  is  telling  them  about  the  stone  of 
Eithne.  Yes,  he  is  pointing  it  out  to  them." 

"  What  stone  ?  Tell  me,  quick.  Oh,  why  can't  I 
understand  ?  " 

As  she  spoke,  Conroy  ended.  There  was  a  dead 
hush.  He  made  as  if  to  leap  down ;  but  a  voice  cried 
from  the  edge  of  the  crowd  — 

"  Spake  it  again.    Spake  to  the  rest  of  us." 

"  There  isn't  one  in  four  who  understands,"  whis- 
pered Frank,  "  and  yet  they  know  how  well  he  was 
speaking.  It's  their  instinct  for  the  art." 

Conroy  checked  his  motion.  He  raised  his  hand 
to  his  forehead  as  if  making  an  effort  of  memory 
for  the  transition  to  another  language.  Then  he 
faced  the  crowd,  drawing  himself  to  his  height,  with 
a  peculiar  look  on  his  face  —  the  inward  laughter  of 
triumph. 

• "  Well,  then,  I  will  speak  to  you  —  to  you  that 
have  forgotten.  You  have  forgotten  the  tongue 
Columbkille  spoke  in.  Do  you  mind  the  tale  of  his 
birth  ?  Do  you  mind  the  name  of  his  mother  ?  " 

"  Ay,  we  do  that.  Eithne,  Eithne !  "  many  voices 
answered. 

"  And  you  know  the  stone  down  yonder  where 
the  marks  are  of  Eithne,  that  she  left  with  her  knees 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  193 

in  the  sore  labour?  And  you  know  the  story  they 
have  out  on  it,  that  whatever  man  sleeps  on  the 
stone  of  Eithne  the  night  before  he  goes  from  home, 
will  never  think  long  for  the  country  and  the  ones 
he  left  behind.  You  have  heard  tell  of  that  ?  " 

"  We  have  then,  Owen,"  voices  cried  to  him. 

The  grey  face  relaxed  a  little.  The  inward  smile 
stole  outward. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you  this  that  I  was  telling 
them  in  the  old  language.  That  story  is  none  of  the 
old  stories.  It  is  a  foolish  tale  invented  in  the  sor- 
row of  men's  hearts  for  a  little  consolation,  when 
they  began  to  leave  the  old  ^country  and  go  away 
across  the  black  sea,  and  when  they  had  the  fear  be- 
fore their  minds  of  the  long  ache  that  would  be  in 
their  hearts,  and  they  thinking  long  in  America." 

His  voice  took  a  sudden  leap  of  passion. 

"There  is  no  truth  in  it.  Neither  Columbkille 
nor  Eithne  had  the  will  to  lay  such  power  on  any 
stone.  And  I  will  tell  you  this.  There  is  neither 
rock  nor  stone,  sod  nor  herb,  running  river  nor  well 
water  in  all  this  country  that  has  power  to  put 
you  past  thinking  long  when  you  leave  it.  There  is 
neither  rock  nor  stone,  sod  nor  herb,  running  river 
nor  well  water  in  all  this  country  but  has  the  power 
to  add  an  ache  and  a  desire  of  itself  to  the  hearts  of 
its  own  people  —  to  your  sons  and  your  daughters, 
your  brothers  and  your  sisters  that  are  away  out 
yonder,  over  the  sea." 


i94  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

Millicent  could  feel  in  her  flesh  the  thrill  that  ran 
through  the  listeners ;  it  did  not  need  the  sobbing  of 
women  to  tell  her  that  the  silent  audience  was  shaken 
by  the  notes  of  his  voice  as  he  uttered  his  descant  on 
the  central  theme  of  Irish  emotion.  The  pause  was 
barely  of  an  instant,  yet  it  seemed  long  before  he 
went  on. 

"  The  land  and  the  people  are  one.  They  are  the 
best  of  the  life  in  its  veins.  When  they  die  and  re- 
turn to  it,  the  land  has  no  sorrow;  but  when  they 
cross  the  seas  and  leave,  the  land  aches  for  them  and 
sends  out  its  sorrow  to  them  in  the  far  ends  of  the 
earth.  And  why  not?  When  they  go,  do  others 
come  and  fill  their  places  ?  What  is  it  we  have  seen 
over  there?  "  —  and  with  a  great  gesture  he  pointed 
across  the  mountain  that  rose  behind  the  graveyard. 

An  angry  murmur  ran  through  the  crowd. 

"  That  was  where  the  great  evictions  were !  " 
Frank  whispered. 

"  We  have  seen  fields  that  once  grew  good  corn 
and  potatoes  slipping  back  into  sour  grass  and 
rushes,  and  three  sheep  feeding  where  a  family  of 
men  and  women  lived." 

"  Tis  the  true  word !  'Tis  God's  truth  he's  speak- 
ing," came  from  the  crowd. 

"Ay,  and  they  will  tell  you  that  it  is  best  it 
should  be  that  way.  What  is  it  they  have  been  tell- 
ing us  in  Ireland  —  the  people  that  govern  us  ? 
What  is  it,  but  that  the  best  we  can  do  for  Ireland, 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  195 

and  for  our  own  selves,  is  to  go  out  of  her,  and  let 
the  lowlands  be  pasture  for  cattle,  and  the  highlands 
be  sheep  walks,  and  make  of  the  mountains  game  pre- 
serves and  deer  forests.  And  there  were  too  many 
that  listened  to  them.  And  what  is  the  end  of  it  to- 
day ?  I  tell  you  this  day  there  are  not  enough  left  in 
Ireland  to  work  the  land  the  way  it  should  be 
worked.  It  was  winning  land  we  were  before,  and 
now  we  are  letting  it  slip  back  from  us.  If  a  man 
wants  a  labourer  to-day,  where  are  the  labouring  men 
that  he  should  hire  to  help  him  in  his  ploughing  or 
his  harvest?  Away  in  America,  or  in  England,  or 
in  Scotland.  There  used  to  be  good  plenty  of  men 
in  Ireland,,  and  now  there  is  a  dearth.  Every  week 
that  passes  there  is  some  hearthstone  left  cold  that 
will  not  be  kindled  again.  That  is  against  the  na- 
ture of  us  —  us  of  the  Gael ;  and  that  is  why  I  stand 
here  to-day.  For  I  know  well  that  with  us  our  na- 
ture is  to  hold  to  the  land  for  better  or  for  worse; 
and  where  there  is  a  hearth  lighting  on  the  land  that 
one  of  us  can  call  his  own  —  ay,  his  own,,  and  his 
own  for  ever  —  that  hearth  will  not  be  let  go  cold. 

"  Look  where  you  stand,"  he  went  on,  after  a 
pause.  "  The  dead  are  not  far  off  you.  Catholics 
and  Protestants,  they  would  all  tell  you  the  same 
story.  They  put  their  life  into  the  land,  they  kept 
it  living  and  in  use;  would  it  be  better  if  they  had 
left  it  to  run  back  into  bare  mountain?  If  they  had 
seen  the  chance,  as  you  see  it  this  day,  to  get  the 


196  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

land  for  themselves,  so  that  no  man  could  put  them 
off  it,  would  they  have  stirred  themselves,  do  you 
think,  so  that  their  sons  and  their  sons'  sons  should 
inherit,  and  that  the  kindly  land  they  wrought  on 
might  never  cease  to  be  tilled,  and  the  rooftree, 
where  they  welcomed  their  neighbours  of  an  even- 
ing, might  never  be  left  bare  to  the  wind  ?  "  He 
paused  again. 

"  You  have  been  told  what  there  is  to  do.  I  say 
to  you  in  the  English  tongue  what  I  said  in  our  own : 
Do  it.  And  be  sure  of  this  in  your  hearts,  that  the 
right  speech  for  every  man  is  the  speech  of  his  own 
country ;  and  the  best  country  for  a  man  to  live  in, 
and  to  work  in,  and  to  die  in,  is  the  country  where 
before  him  for  long  ages  his  fathers  lived  and 
worked  and  died,  and  lie  as  they  lie  here  about  our 
very  feet,  in  a  land  that  is  still  rich  with  the  life  that 
they  poured  into  its  veins." 

For  another  long  instant  he  paused ;  then,  standing 
stiff  and  erect,  he  spoke  one  more  sentence  in  the 
sonorous  Gaelic,  and  leapt  down  from  the  grave- 
stone. There  was  a  tumult  of  shouting,  and  men 
rushed  round  him  to  shake  his  hand. 

Frank  touched  Millicent's  arm.  "  Come  away. 
There  will  be  nothing  worth  listening  to  after  that." 

They  went  out  of  the  field  and,  crossing  the  road, 
sat  down  on  the  bank  a  hundred  yards  away  from 
the  speakers  and  listeners.  Neither  said  anything 
for  a  little  while.  At  last  Millicent  broke  silence. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  197 

"  What  strange  people !  Imagine  a  speech  like 
that  to  English  labourers." 

"  It  did  not  seem  to  you  incongruous,  did  it  ?  "  he 
answered.  "  And  half  of  these  people  can't  read  or 
write.  Conroy  knows  how  to  speak  to  them." 

"  Yes ;  like  one  of  themselves,"  she  answered. 
"  What  a  strange  people !  It  was  like  a  religious  as- 
sembly." 

"  It  is  their  religion  —  or  a  good  part  of  it." 

Suddenly  a  new  sound  arose  from  the  crowds  — 
groans  and  shouts  of  execration. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  Bad  work,  I'm  afraid.  Denouncing  land-grab- 
bers, you  may  be  sure.  See!  there  are  the  police!  " 

Half  a  dozen  of  the  tall,  soldierly,  black-clad  men 
had  moved  forward,  and  the  sergeant  was  saying 
something  to  the  speakers.  There  was  an  ugly  com- 
motion in  the  crowd.  Then  McManus  was  on  his 
feet  again  on  the  platform. 

"  Gentlemen,  the  sergeant  says  that  the  meeting 
must  disperse.  The  reason  he  gives  is  that  Mr.  Freel 
named  the  names  of  certain  persons  —  names  that  I 
will  not  repeat  —  who  have  taken  evicted  farms. 
You  will  remember  this,  boys.  Remember  well  —  " 
There  were  vindictive  cries.  Then  McManus  raised 
his  voice.  "  The  meeting  is  at  an  end.  Good-bye !  " 

Frank  laughed  bitterly.    "  He  is  clever." 

"  What  does  it  all  mean?  " 

"  It  means  that  all  those  people  will  be  marked. 


198  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

They  will  be  called  up  before  a  court  of  some  half- 
dozen  of  these  men,  and  ordered  to  give  up  these 
farms." 

"  And  if  they  don't  ?  " 

"  They  will  be  censured  —  that  is  the  new  word." 

"  That  doesn't  sound  very  terrible." 

"  It  only  means  that  no  one  will  buy  from  them, 
nor  sell  to  them,  except  where  the  law  forces  them. 
That,  if  they  go  to  mass,  the  others  will  move  away 
from  them  as  they  enter  and  go  out ;  that  no  one  will 
give  them  good-day  on  the  roads ;  that  they  will  be 
outcasts,  morally.  That  is  all  it  means  —  at  present. 
If  things  get  bitter  —  but  in  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try there  has  never  been  much  worse  than  that. 
Still,  you  know  what  has  happened." 

"  How  horrible ! "  said  Millicent,  with  a  little 
shiver. 

"  There  are  two  sides  to  most  religions,"  Frank 
answered.  "  It  is  all  studiously  legal,  at  present. 
You  see,  they  are  breaking  up  quietly.  There  won't 
be  any  row  for  you  to  see."  Then  he  stopped  for  a 
moment.  An  impulse  had  risen  in  his  mind.  "  Do 
you  mind  waiting?  I'm  going  to  speak  to  Conroy." 

Without  waiting  for  her  answer  he  left  her  and 
made  his  way  in  through  the  press.  Conroy  was 
standing  a  little  apart  talking  earnestly  in  Irish  to 
three  or  four  wild-looking  mountain  men.  At  the 
sight  of  Frank  his  face  fell  back  into  its  strong  com- 
posure. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  199 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  Frank  said.  "  I  did  not 
know  you  could  do  that." 

"  It  was  not  much  to  do,"  Conroy  answered. 

"  The  meeting  did  not  seem  to  think  so.  But 
Miss  Carteret  would  like  to  see  you.  She  is  sitting 
on  the  ditch  across  the  road." 

Conroy  moved  to  go,  his  face  making  no  signs  of 
pleasure  or  displeasure. 

"  Can  you  get  me  introduced  to  McManus  before 
you  go?"  said  Frank.  If  he  had  been  ungenerous 
before,  he  was  determined  now  to  give  the  other 
man  every  chance  in  the  moment  that  his  eloquence 
had  made. 

"  Surely,"  said  Conroy ;  and  he  handed  over 
Frank  to  one  of  the  organizers  of  the  meeting. 

He  made  his  way  through  the  crowd,  part  of 
whom  were  already  streaming  away  down  the  road 
voluble  in  talk.  Millicent  rose  to  greet  him  with  eyes 
shining. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Conroy,"  she  said,  with  a  reproachful 
note  in  her  voice,  "why  did  you  not  tell  me?  I 
might  never  have  heard  that  speech.  Was  that 
friendly  of  you  ?  " 

The  grey  face  was  luminous  now.  "  Indeed, 
then,  Miss  Carteret,  I  never  thought  of  your 
caring.  And,  besides,  it  was  only  to  speak  in 
the  Irish  I  was  asked,  and  you  have  not  the 
Irish." 

"  But  I  would  have  come  all  the  same,"  she  said. 


200  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  I'm  so  glad,  though,  they  made  you  speak  '  to  the 
rest  of  us/  "  she  added,  with  an  emphasis  on  the 
quoted  words.  "  I  am  sure  I  must  be  only  one  '  of 
those  that  have  forgotten.'  " 

"  I  think  you  have  known  everything  —  one  time 
or  another,"  he  answered  in  a  low  tone. 

She  was  flushed  with  the  excitement  of  his  elo- 
quence and  the  music  of  the  blood  in  her  own  veins, 
reckless  with  the  intoxication  of  life,  too  happy  to 
be  wise.  She  had  forgotten  all  but  the  impulse  of 
the  moment. 

"  I  have  been  learning  a  great  deal  over  again 
since  I  came  to  Donegal." 

Then,  as  she  felt  his  eyes  upon  her,  she  remem- 
bered —  she  remembered  him. 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  was  able  to  speak  like 
that  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  never  spoke 
like  that  before." 

She  saw  what  she  had  done,  too  late,  and  sorrow 
came  on  her;  but  she  had  not  the  heart  to  dash  the 
exultation  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  was  the  place  and  the  people  —  it  was  what 
you  saw  and  felt,"  she  answered,  with  a  touch  of 
constraint.  He  heard  it,  and  he  misunderstood  her 
hesitation. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  saw  and  felt  ?  "  Then  he 
paused  for  an  instant.  "  If  I  only  could  tell  you  in 
my  own  language.  It  is  this.  I  saw  a  flame  —  a 
white  flame  —  leaping  up  and  growing  under  the 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  201 

breath  of  my  words,  and  swaying  to  me.  That  is 
what  I  saw.  —  But  I  cannot  tell  you." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment.  She  was  not  looking 
at  him ;  she  did  not  dare  to  let  him  see  the  compas- 
sion that  was  in  her  face. 

"  Do  you  understand  ?  "  he  went  on,  "  that  these 
thoughts  which  you  heard  me  speak  I  have  always 
had,  and  always  kept  them  to  myself.  It  was  you 
that  drew  me  on  to  speak  them."  The  words  came 
slow  and  emphatic.  He,  too,  was  still  under  the 
power  of  the  emotions  he  had  given  and  received. 
The  barriers  were  all  down.  "  You  have  taught  me 
to  speak  my  thoughts.  It  is  as  if  you  had  brought 
me  into  the  living  world  among  faces  and  voices 
that  answer  me." 

She  was  dumb  before  him,  struggling  with  her 
thoughts.  A  moment  before  she  had  been  in  the  full 
flush  of  enjoyment.  Standing  in  the  crowd,  in  the 
companionship  that  gave  her  mere  and  unreflecting 
happiness,  she  had  exulted  in  the  display  of  power, 
in  the  triumph  of  the  talent  that  she  had  discovered. 
But  now  she  was  forced  into  a  new  part ;  it  was  de- 
nied her  to  be  a  spectator.  He  came  to  her  in  the 
glow  of  his  success,  and  threw  at  her  feet  the  tribute 
he  had  earned.  It  was  a  crisis  that  she  had  not  fore- 
seen, could  not  control ;  she  knew  well,  now  for  the 
first  time,  what  he  was  asking,  rather  what  he  was 
assuming  as  his  own.  "  Look/'  he  seemed  to  say  to 
her,  "  I  have  done  this  through  you,  and  for  you." 


202  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

And  for  the  moment  she  wondered  if  this  were  a 
vocation  —  a  call,  summoning  her  away  from  the 
very  fruition  of  her  own  lesser  and  personal  joy. 
Between  her  and  Frank  nothing  had  yet  been 
spoken;  the  summons  came  in  time.  One  way  or 
other,  it  seemed  that  she  was  called  to  pledge  herself, 
to  decide ;  and  in  the  enthusiasm,  under  the  spell  of 
the  influence  that  he  still  diffused,  the  instinct  of  self- 
dedication  was  strong  in  her.  What  he  had  done, 
what  he  could  do  yet,  was  through  her ;  she  felt  that 
urged  in  his  words  and  in  his  look.  And  she  did  not 
know  how  to  answer  either  word  or  look. 

Voices  broke  on  them  from  outside.  A  group  of 
four  or  five  people  were  coming  up  the  road  to 
where  she  sat  and  he  stood.  She  saw  Frank  and 
welcomed  his  presence  with  a  throb  of  relief.  The 
others  stopped  a  few  yards  off,  and  he  came  towards 
them. 

"  McManus  is  asking  for  you,"  he  said  to  Conroy ; 
"they  were  afraid  you  had  given  them  the  slip. 
There's  been  no  end  of  a  fuss  over  your  Irish;  the 
police  sergeant  was  convinced  you  had  been  talking 
treason,  and  the  interpreter  they  have  with  them 
was  giving  him  a  sketch  of  what  you  said,  and  he 
was  mortally  incredulous.  You'd  better  go  and  of- 
fer to  dictate  it  to  him.  I'd  like  to  see  the  inspector's 
face  when  he  read  it." 

Millicent  was  grateful  for  the  return  to  regions  of 
laughter.  She  felt  as  if  an  immense  weight  was 


THE    OLD   KNOWLEDGE  203 

suddenly  lifted  off  her  soul,  and  she  held  out  her 
hand. 

"  Good-bye,  then,  Mr.  Conroy.  Go  and  cast  your 
pearls  before  the  constabulary." 

Conroy's  face  relaxed  a  little.  "  Ah,"  he  said, 
"  the  sergeant's  an  old  friend  of  mine.  He  has  as 
nice  a  lot  of  beehives  as  you  could  see.  'Tis  most 
likely  some  one  has  been  speaking  rough  to  him. 
He'll  take  my  word  fast  enough." 

He  lifted  his  cap  gravely  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

IT  seemed  to  Millicent  as  if  she  had  suddenly  walked 
out  of  prison  and  had  ears  again  for  the  singing  of 
the  larks.  She  was  free:  she  could  be  herself. 
There  was  nobody  with  her  who  would  make  a 
demand  upon  her.  She  could  be  and  do  and  say 
just  what  she  liked,  and  she  wanted  to  dance  there 
in  the  middle  of  the  road.  She  was  going  to  be 
happy,  and  not  to  think.  Frank  was  asking  if  he 
might  see  her  home. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  half  dreamily,  looking  away 
over  the  shining  lake.  Then  she  turned  on  him 
with  a  quick  gesture.  "  I'm  so  glad  you're  here.  I 
want  to  talk  nonsense  —  nothing  but  nonsense  — 
not  a  word  about  anything  serious." 

For  a  moment  she  looked  at  him  appealingly. 
There  was  a  touch  of  disappointment  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  please,"  she  said ;  "  I'm  so  tired  of  serious 
things."  Then  quick  as  a  flash  she  changed. 
"  Promise,"  she  said,  in  her  most  imperious  tone 
that  always  roused  him  to  acquiescent  laughter,  and 
he  laughed  now  at  the  sudden  transformation. 
204 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  205 

"  AH  right,"  he  answered.  "  I  won't  say  a  word 
about  politics." 

"  Oh,  politics ! "  she  answered,  with  a  fine  dis- 
dain. "  I  don't  call  politics  serious.  You  may 
talk  politics  as  much  as  you  like.  Only  I  won't 
listen.  I'm  tired  of  politics.  I  don't  think  I  like 
them." 

"  Well !  "  exclaimed  Frank,  as  he  paused  to  con- 
template her.  Then,  as  he  lit  a  cigarette,  "  You're 
incorrigible.  Perhaps,  then,  you'll  consider  the 
subject  of  ways  and  means  of  getting  home.  You 
came  up  along  the  river,  I  suppose?  Would  you 
like  to  go  back  another  way  over  the  mountains? 
It's  jolly ;  but  the  road  is  awful." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  she  said.  "  You  shall  shove 
my  bicycle  at  the  bad  places." 

"  It's  up  this  way,"  he  said,  pointing  up  the  hill. 

"  Then  you  can  begin  now,"  she  retorted. 

And  it  seemed  to  Frank  that  the  most  desirable 
thing  on  earth  was  to  be  ordered  about  by  this 
young  lady. 

All  the  same,  her  good  intentions  of  talking  non- 
sense seemed  a  little  hard  to  realize.  She  fell  into 
a  reverie,  and  walked  beside  him  with  her  eyes  not 
looking  at  anything,  with  her  head  a  little  hung. 
The  challenge  and  the  alacrity  was  gone  from  her 
carriage,  as  if  the  vitality  was  drawn  inward,  rather 
than  expressing  itself  in  gait  and  gesture. 

Frank  waited  on  her  mood,  till  it  seemed  to 


206  THE  OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

him  she  was  growing  downcast.  He  stopped,  and, 
balancing  the  two  bicycles,  extracted  a  copper  from 
his  pocket. 

"  For  your  thoughts,"  he  said,  tendering  it  to 
Millicent,  who  returned  with  a  jump  from  her 
dreaming. 

She  took  it  with  a  little  grimace.  "  Thank  you," 
she  said. 

"  Pay  up,  then." 

"  Go  on  pushing.  That's  right.  I  like  talking 
and  walking.  It's  only  this.  Would  you  rather  be 
yourself,  or  be  some  one  else's  notion  of  yourself?  " 

He  stopped  again,  with  each  hand  propping  a 
bicycle.  It  is  not  an  advantageous  position. 

"Are  they  too  heavy?"  she  laughed.  "Shall  I 
take  mine?  Poor  thing!  We're  very  near  the 
top." 

"  Really,"  he  said  resignedly,  "  you're  too  bad. 
Who  was  it  said  we  weren't  to  talk  serious  things  ?  " 

"  I  don't  call  that  serious,"  said  Millicent.  "  It's 
only  a  question." 

"As  if  questions  weren't  the  only  serious  things !  " 
he  groaned,  resuming  his  progress.  "  Well,  then, 
if  you  insist.  Of  course  it's  better  to  be  one's 
self." 

"  But  suppose  some  one  else's  notion  of  yourself 
is  much  nicer  than  yourself?  " 

"  You  can't  go  on  being  some  one  else's  notion  of 
yourself  all  the  time,"  he  answered. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  207 

"  But  you  could  try  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't,"  he  said  persuasively. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  flash  of  laughter. 
"  Would  you  not  ?  Do  you  know,  I  think  you're 
very  wise.  Now,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Norman,  I  can 
get  on  quite  well.  Give  me  my  bicycle." 

The  road  tilted  over  a  hump  of  ground,  and  she 
was  up  in  a  moment,  and  away  down 'the  far  side 
on  flying  wheels,  with  poised  head  and  feet  resting, 
while  stray  wisps  of  her  hair  blew  out  behind. 
When  Frank  got  level  with  her,  and  the  burst  of 
speed  was  ended,  she  was  calling  out  in  delight  about 
a  hill  slope  all  one  glow  of  purple  heath.  And,  after 
that,  there  was  no  occasion  to  complain  of  her  for 
any  relapse  into  serious  things. 

Soon  they  turned  off  the  high  road  into  a  byway, 
laboriously  built  across  boggy  moor.  Relief  works 
in  times  of  famine  have  intersected  all  the  poorer 
parts  of  Ireland  with  a  superfluity  of  thoroughfares, 
and  the  counties  maintain  them  —  under  protest. 
Frank  and  Millicent  picked  their  way  along  the 
raised  causeway,  choosing  by  preference  the  narrow 
pad  worn  by  barefoot  traffic  along  the  edge  of 
roughly  metalled  road.  To  right  and  left  the  moor 
and  bog  stretched  away  from  them  —  brown,  pur- 
ple, olive,  with  patches  here  and  there  of  bright 
sappy  green  —  and  beyond  the  moor  were  hills  on 
their  right,  and  to  the  left  the  great  chain  of  wild 
mountain  shapes  that  follows  the  northern  sea-line. 


208  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

They  had  the  landscape  to  themselves  for  a  long 
way,  till,  at  a  bend  of  the  road,  they  saw  in  front  of 
them  a  horse  and  car.  And  saw  also,  to  Millicent's 
amazement,  the  driver  leap  down  and  pull  off  his 
coat  in  desperate  haste. 

"  Is  he  quite  mad  ?  "  she  said  to  Frank,  as  the  lad 
rushed  to  his  horse's  head  and  proceeded  to  wrap  his 
coat  round  the  animal's  eyes. 

"Not  quite,"  he  said.  "Look  out!  Give  them 
good  room."  Then,  as  they  shot  past  the  carload 
of  grave-faced  peasant  men  and  taciturn,  huddled 
old  women,  who  solemnly  acknowledged  Frank's 
greeting,  he  added,  "  They're  new  to  bicycles  here. 
This  is  as  near  the  back  of  beyond  as  you'll  get  in 
Ireland." 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  Millicent,  looking  out  over  the 
wild  stretch  of  country;  "Margaret's  is  suburban 
compared  to  this." 

"  Those  people  must  be  coming  from  the  holy  well 
I  told  you  about.  You'll  see  the  Rock  of  Doon  in 
a  minute  or  two." 

And,  at  the  next  turn  in  the  road,  he  pointed  to 
a  sharply  marked  bluff  or  hillock,  with  scarped  sides, 
that  rose  beyond  the  bog  to  their  right,  well  de- 
fined against  the  tumbling  line  of  more  distant 
hills. 

"  There  you  are !  Shall  we  go  up  to  the  well  ? 
This  isn't  a  day  of  pilgrimage,  but  it's  worth 
seeing." 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  209 

So  they  turned  up  the  track,  which  was  rougher 
even  than  the  one  they  had  ridden.  It  ran  straight 
for  the  base  of  the  rock:  first  through  levels  of 
rushy  ground  and  scrub  heather,  scarred  and  pitted 
with  the  deep  brown  turf  cuttings,  and  the  black 
water  that  lay  in  their  depths;  then  rising  to  the 
rocky  ground,  until  the  road  ended  suddenly  on  a 
space  of  greensward.  Rounding  the  end  of  the  bluff, 
they  found  this  green  extending  in  a  sunlit  level  on 
the  southern  side  of  the  rock ;  there,  sheltered  from 
all  observation,  was  the  well. 

"  Look  at  the  crutches,"  said  Frank,  pointing  to  a 
group  of  tall  grey  objects  erect  in  the  grass ;  "  and 
do  you  see  ?  —  there's  some  one  at  the  well." 

By  the  little  coping  of  grey  stones  that  marked 
where  the  well  was  covered  from  defilement,  an  old 
woman  knelt  in  deep  prayer.  Frank  and  Millicent, 
moving  over  the  grass,  and  examining  the  votive 
crutches  bound  with  weather-beaten  rags,  and  the 
strips  of  clothing  knotted  into  tufts  of  rushes,  or 
strewn  over  the  ground,  kept  away  till  her  devotions 
should  be  finished.  They  saw  her  fill  a  bottle  at  the 
well,  cork  it,  and  again  crouch  herself  in  prayer. 
When  she  rose  up  to  go,  hobbling  cheerfully,  like 
one  well  content  with  her  errand,  they  approached 
her.  As  she  passed  on  her  way  with  head  bent,  not 
looking  to  the  right  or  left,  Frank  gave  her  a  greet- 
ing. She  looked  up,  and,  catching  sight  of  the  girl, 
started  violently,  while  a  look  of  terror  crossed  her 


210  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

face,  and  the  bottle  that  she  was  carrying  clasped 
under  her  shawl  fell  to  the  ground,  struck  a  stone 
lying  on  the  grass,  and  there  was  a  crash. 

The  old  woman  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  stupe- 
fied, then  burst  into  a  storm  of  sobbing,  while 
Frank,  dreadfully  concerned  and  embarrassed, 
picked  up  the  bottle.  The  whole  underside  was 
broken,  and  not  a  drop  of  water  remained  in  it. 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  clean  gone,"  he  said.  Then  he 
thought  for  a  moment.  "  But  maybe  the  saint  has 
more  ways  than  you  think  of  working.  What  did 
you  want  the  water  for?  Is  there  anything  we 
could  do  ?  " 

To  his  surprise,  Millicent's  hand  was  on  his  arm 
and  she  drew  him  away  peremptorily. 

"  You  mustn't  offer  her  money,"  she  whispered. 
"  It's  Ellen  Dooey.  What  are  we  to  do  ?  Isn't  it 
dreadful  ?  Go  and  speak  to  her  —  say  something." 

The  old  woman  was  sitting  now  on  the  ground, 
rocking  herself  to  and  fro  and  wailing. 

"  Ellen,  Miss  Carteret's  just  told  me  it  was  you. 
It  was  all  my  fault,  and  surely  if  there's  bad  luck  it's 
on  me  it  ought  to  come.  Isn't  there  anything  I  can 
do  ?  Shall  I  get  you  another  bottle  out  of  the  house 
there  ?  There's  always  water  in  the  well  to  do  good 
to  them  that  believe." 

But  Ellen  only  rocked  herself  and  wailed  the 
more. 

"  Don't  fret  yourself,"  he  went  on.     "  Wait  till 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  211 

you  see  Owen  Conroy,  and  he'll  be  able  to  put  you 
in  better  heart  about  it.  Indeed,  Ellen,  I'd  give  a 
great  deal  for  it  not  to  have  happened." 

Not  heeding  him,  she  began  to  lament  to  herself 
in  Gaelic,  and  Frank,  not  liking  to  leave  her,  yet 
thinking  it  useless  to  stay,  spoke  again. 

"  I  haven't  the  Irish,  Ellen,  and  I  don't  know 
what  you're  saying.  But  I'd  be  glad  to  hear  you 
say  that  you  won't  think  there  was  any  blame  on 
yourself.  I  had  no  right  to  speak  to  you  when  you 
were  thinking  of  your  prayers,  and  I'm  as  sorry  as 
you  can  be.  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  ?  " 

To  his  amazement  the  old  woman  stopped  her 
lamentation  and  darted  a  glance  of  hatred  towards 
Millicent.  Then  she  stood  up  and  pointed  at  the 
girl. 

"  Take  her  away,"  she  cried  out;  "  take  her  away 
to  them  that  she  belongs  to.  There  was  no  luck 
came  with  her.  Take  her  away." 

Frank  flushed  red.  "  I  tell  you  this,  Ellen,  that 
Owen  Conroy  would  be  badly  pleased  if  he  heard 
you  saying  that.  I  wonder  you  would  say  such 
things  of  a  lady  that  is  a  stranger,  and  that  never 
gave  you  or  him  anything  but  kind  words.  I'm 
ashamed  for  you." 

But  the  old  crone  broke  out  into  a  wild  rush  of 
Gaelic,  shaking  her  fist  and  cursing. 

"  The  devil  take  you,  then,  for  a  superstitious  old 
hag,"  said  Frank,  losing  his  temper. 


212  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

But  Millicent  came  up  to  him,  her  face  discom- 
posed with  tears. 

"  Come  away,  come  away.  She  doesn't  know 
what  she's  saying.  There's  no  use  talking." 

When  they  reached  the  road  Frank  began  to  utter 
his  apologies  and  regrets;  but  Millicent  cut  him 
short. 

"  Don't  talk  any  more  about  it.  It  was  horrible ; 
but  it  wasn't  anybody's  fault.  I  wish  that  old 
woman  didn't  hate  me.  No,  don't  say  any  more.  I 
want  to  forget  it  as  quickly  as  I  can." 

And  the  last  few  miles  of  the  ride  were  melan- 
choly enough. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THERE  were  still  two  good  hours  of  sunlight  left 
when  Millicent  parted  from  Frank  and  came  in  — 
for  once  uncommunicative  in  reply  to  Margaret's 
questionings.  Gladly  enough  she  let  Margaret 
blame  the  long  road  for  her  tired  face,  and  she  made 
fatigue  a  pretext  for  her  desire  to  be  alone.  There 
was  a  terrible  deal  to  think  over. 

Ringing  in  her  head  were  the  old  .woman's  words, 
insistent  on  her  memory  was  the  old  woman's  look 
of  bitter  detestation.  "  There  was  no  luck  came 
with  her."  And  oh  those  fierce  furtive  eyes !  She 
had  no  need  to  ask  herself  the  reason  of  the  hatred. 
It  had  been  given  in  the  words,  "  Take  her  away  to 
them  that  she  belongs  to."  She  wondered  if  she 
ought  to  go.  It  was  easy,  even  without  leaving  the 
country.  Frank  had  been  propounding  to  her  a 
scheme  for  joining,  on  the  next  day  but  one,  a  party 
that  should  follow  a  round  of  golfing  competitions 
from  hotel  to  hotel  on  the  coast.  The  little  ladies 
had  no  part  in  it,  but  the  kindly  and  pleasant  Mrs. 
Irwin  would  chaperon  them ;  it  would  be  a  good 
time,  she  thought,  and  she  would  escape  from  her 
213 


2i4  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

perplexities.  And  besides  —  Frank  had  obeyed  her 
wish ;  but  there  had  been  a  significance  in  the  tone  in 
which  he  had  reminded  her  of  his  submission  when 
he  said  good-bye.  "  I  haven't  talked  serious  things, 
have  I  —  not  to-day?"  It  was  something  more 
than  a  claim  on  her  gratitude.  She  had  promised 
to  give  him  an  answer  in  the  morning  about  this 
project.  If  she  said  "  Yes  "  —  oh,  well,  it  would 
certainly  be  a  change  —  bright  sand  and  blue  sea, 
and  away  from  the  grey  landscape  of  bog  and 
mountain,  grey  reeds,  grey  lake,  and  slow  flowing 
river.  Perhaps  there,  she  thought,  when  everything 
else  was  not  so  serious  —  perhaps  there  —  she  might 
not  forbid  him  to  talk  of  serious  things. 

But  the  very  thought  instantly  brought  up  to  her 
mind  the  other  man.  She  thought  of  Owen  Conroy 
—  and  she  thought  of  the  old  woman  who  accused 
her  of  bringing  him  ill  luck.  It  was  true :  she  felt 
that  now.  Her  happiness  was  bound  up  with  his 
hurt.  But,  still,  she  remembered  his  taciturn  face  as 
she  saw  it  first;  she  recalled  its  sudden  lighting  up 
as  she  had  told  him  what  she  thought  of  his  draw- 
ings; she  remembered  the  look  of  loneliness  in  his 
eyes;  she  remembered  his  struggles  for  speech;  she 
remembered  the  strange,  impalpable  barrier  that 
seemed  to  shut  him  from  Frank  Norman  on  the  one 
hand,  from  Margaret  and  her  boys  on  the  other. 
And  then  she  recalled  him  as  she  had  seen  him  those 
few  hours  ago,  a  centre  of  men's  eyes,  putting  into 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  215 

language  the  inarticulate  cry  of  their  hearts,  thanked 
by  them  with  word,  and  shout,  and  tear,  and  the 
whole  thrill  of  their  nature;  one  with  them,  giving 
and  taking,  no  longer  lonely  and  uncomprehended. 
And  she  remembered  his  words  to  her.  He  had  said 
that  it  was  she  who  had  wrought  the  change ;  it  was 
she  who  had  let  in  the  sunlight.  The  old  woman  did 
not  understand,  she  thought,  but  saw  trouble  where 
there  was  only  growth.  Was  it  right,  then,  she 
should  go  away?  Was  it  not  well  that  she  should 
stay  rather  ? 

"  But  —  but  —  "  she  said  to  herself  aloud,  and 
it  seemed  to  her  that  life  was  made  up  of  painful 
contradictions. 

A  tall  grey  figure  passed  her  window,  and  she 
felt  her  heart  suddenly  sink.  Margaret  rapped,  and 
came  in. 

"  It's  Mr.  Conroy,  miss.  I  told  him  you  were 
tired  with  the  riding." 

"  I'll  see  him,  Margaret,"  said  Millicent. 

She  told  herself  quickly  that  it  was  absurd  to  be 
afraid :  that  he  had  simply  come  down  to  talk  to  her 
about  the  meeting. 

The  little  room  seemed  to  grow  lower  as  the  tall, 
gaunt  figure  entered  it,  and  closed  the  door.  There 
was  no  suppleness  in  his  movements,  but  he  stood 
straight  as  a  young  larch.  The  lines  of  the  face 
had  little  play  in  them,  but  his  eyes  shone  with  an 
inward  exultation. 


216  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

She  was  conscious  of  clutching  at  a  subject  that 
was  at  least  impersonal,  and  might  lead  the  talk 
away  from  her  and  him. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Conroy,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you ! "  she 
began.  "  A  dreadful  thing  happened  to  me  this 
afternoon." 

And,  in  a  few  words,  she  told  him  of  the  meeting 
with  Ellen  Dooey  and  the  tragedy  of  the  spilt  holy 
water  —  but  not  of  Ellen's  angry  words. 

Conroy  listened  in  vague  perplexity;  shadows 
clouded  his  eyes. 

"  I  wonder  what  in  the  world  was  Ellen  there  for  ? 
She  didn't  tell  you  that  ?  " 

"  She  was  so  distressed  we  couldn't  get  her  to 
speak  to  us.  She  kept  lamenting  to  herself  in  Irish," 
said  Millicent,  dealing  out  a  modicum  of  truth. 
"  But  you  will  explain  to  her  —  won't  you  ?  —  how 
sorry  I  was  ?  " 

"  'Twas  no  fault  of  yours,  Miss  Carteret.  And, 
indeed,  'tis  kind  of  you  to  be  troubled  about  it; 
for  many  a  one  would  have  only  laughed  at  the 
poor  foolish  old  woman,  with  her  spells  and  charms. 
But  I  know  well  you  would  understand  that,  to 
her  way  of  thinking,  it  was  a  strange  thing  to  hap- 
pen. A  strange  thing,  indeed,"  he  repeated,  as  if 
to  himself. 

Millicent  laughed  a  little  nervously.  She  felt 
oppressed  by  his  presence. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  be  as  foolish  as  she  is.    It 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  217 

gave  me  a  great  shock.  Was  that  unreasonable? 
Don't  you  believe  in  the  holy  well,  and  the  wonder- 
ful things  that  happen  there  ?  " 

His  face  began  to  take  on  it  that  look  which  she 
knew  and  dreaded. 

"Believe?"  he  said,  in  a  monotone.  "Why 
would  I  not  believe?  Why  would  there  not  be 
wonderful  things  happening?  Who  knows  the 
power  of  the  spirit  upon  itself,  and  upon  other 
spirits  ?  Is  there  not  a  change  in  me  as  wonderful 
as  the  change  from  sickness  into  health?" 

It  was  true.  He  stood  transfigured  from  the 
man  she  had  met  that  day  in  the  garden  by  the 
beehives.  And,  as  she  looked  at  him,  she  had  not 
the  heart  to  dash  the  rapture  in  his  face.  Rather, 
her  instinct  was  to  stretch  out  her  hand  to  him  — 
to  rejoice  with  him  in  his  felicity,  that  seemed  a 
thing  she  had  a  part  in,  yet  that  was  alien  to  herself 
—  like  a  statue  that  some  artist  has  created.  The 
pride  in  his  triumph  came  back  to  her  with  its  old 
force,  and  the  homage  of  such  a  man  was  sweet  to 
the  woman. 

"  I'm  so  glad  if  you  are  happier,"  she  said  softly. 
Then  she  paused  for  an  instant.  "  You  made  me 
very  proud  to-day.  What  you  said  to  me  wasn't 
true  —  I  had  done  nothing.  But  I  liked  you  to 
say  it." 

Something  leapt  into  his  eyes  that  changed  their 
dreamy  contemplation,  and  a  movement  of  revul- 


2i8  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

sion  answered  it  in  her.  It  shifted  the  relation ;  his 
face  could  no  longer  be  seen  in  detachment,  imper- 
sonally. The  change  in  him  was  not  a  thing 
finished,  ended.  It  was  a  process  that  she  had  set 
on  foot,  and  that  glance  had  made  her  feel  bound  to 
her  own  creation.  If  he  told  her  that  she  was  nec- 
essary to  him,  she  must  relinquish  much  to  deny  it. 

He  dropped  his  gaze  from  her,  and  spoke  awk- 
wardly and  with  hesitation. 

"  There's  a  thing  I  want  your  advice  upon,  Miss 
Carteret,  if  you'd  be  so  good  as  to  give  it." 

"  But,  Mr.  Conroy,"  Millicent  answered,  with 
growing  embarrassment,  "  my  advice  is  no  good. 
It  isn't  painting,  is  it?  " 

"  You're  the  only  one  that  can  advise  me.  It's 
this  way.  You  know  this  new  League  is  putting 
up  members  all  through  the  country  for  Parliament  ? 
Mr.  McManus  asked  me  to-day  would  I  be  willing 
to  stand?" 

Millicent  looked  hard  at  him.  This  was  a  new 
development,  indeed!  All  her  intellectual  curiosity 
reasserted  itself,  and  the  odd,  ironical  look,  that 
Frank  was  familiar  with,  came  about  the  corners 
of  her  eyes.  Conroy,  lonely  and  unrecognized,  ap- 
pealed straight  to  her  sympathy.  Conroy,  success- 
ful, with  a  career  suddenly  opening  before  him, 
might  be  looked  at  critically. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  aren't  you  pleased  ?  Isn't  it 
a  tremendous  compliment?" 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  219 

He  was  quick  to  detect  the  absence  of  enthusiasm 
in  her  tone,  and  the  intellectual  pride  in  him  rose 
in  revolt. 

"  Tis  not  so  great  a  compliment  as  you  think. 
The  half  of  them  will  be  publicans  and  small 
attorneys.  They're  hard  set  for  men,  that's  the 
truth." 

"  But  why  ?  "  asked  Millicent.  "  Are  brains  so 
rare  as  that  ?  " 

Conroy  fidgeted  a  little  in  his  seat.  "There's 
many  of  the  best  men  don't  like  the  pledge." 

Millicent  paused  for  a  moment  and  scanned  him 
questioningly. 

"  Mr.  Conroy,  do  you  want  me  to  advise  you  ?  or 
do  you  just  want  to  be  congratulated?" 

"  Surely,  I  want  to  be  advised,"  he  answered 
earnestly. 

"  Then  tell  me  more  about  it.  What  pledge  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  It's  the  pledge  to  be  bound  in  everything  by  a 
majority  of  the  party." 

"  Of  the  publicans  and  small  attorneys  ?  "  she  said, 
with  a  touch  of  irony.  "  Mr.  Conroy,  you  are  quite 
sure  you  would  like  that  ?  " 

"  I'm  very  sure  I  would  not,"  he  answered,  with 
emphasis.  "  But  it's  necessary  —  I  see  that.  There 
must  be  a  pledge.  Look  what  has  been  happening." 

He  spoke  freely  now,  in  the  abstract,  absorbed 
in  his  argument,  as  he  proceeded  to  demonstrate  to 


220  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

her,  by  a  review  of  the  last  years,  the  extent  and 
consequences  of  disunion.  Millicent,  relieved  of  the 
instant  demand  upon  her  sympathy,  listened;  trans- 
lating, after  the  fashion  of  every  woman,  the  general 
into  the  particular  and  personal.  And  the  process 
of  translation  did  not  flatter  the  prospect. 

"  I  see,"  she  said  vaguely,  when  he  finished. 
"  But  you  know,  Mr.  Conroy,  aren't  you  perhaps 
carried  away?  Do  you  realize  what  you  are  giving 
up  ?  You  never  thought  of  all  this  before  ?  " 

"  Never  in  my  life.    What  call  had  I  to  ?  " 

She  bent  forward  eagerly.  "  But,  don't  you  see 
that  it  is  just  because  you  have  stood  outside  of 
all  this  —  all  this  scheming  and  compromising,  and 
the  rest  —  and  lived  your  real  life,  and  thought 
your  real  thoughts  —  that  is  why  you  are  what  you 
are?" 

His  face  fell.    "  And  that's  true,"  he  said. 

Millicent  pursued  her  advantage,  relentlessly 
obedient  to  her  sense  of  artistic  fitness.  "  Publicans 
and  attorneys ! "  The  phrase  stayed  in  her  mind, 
and  she  remembered  the  groans  at  the  names  of  the 
land-grabbers. 

"  What  would  the  mountains  or  the  rivers  mean 
to  you,  if  you  were  thinking  all  the  time  how  many 
votes  you  would  get?"  She  broke  off  brusquely 
from  the  tone  of  persuasion,  and  her  voice  and 
manner  grew  incisive  and  emphatic.  "  I  can't  help 
it.  It  may  be  all  right  for  other  people.  It  doesn't 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  221 

seem  to  me  the  right  thing  for  you.  It  isn't 
your  place  or  your  work.  You're  an  artist.  What 
do  you  want  with  it?  Why  can't  you  let  it 
alone  ?  " 

Then  she  saw  his  face  drawn  with  silent  pain, 
and  her  tone  changed  almost  to  pleading. 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  said?  I'm  very  sorry.  It's  all 
nonsense,  and  I  don't  know  anything  about  it !  Of 
course,  there's  another  side  to  it.  It's  splendid  to 
stir  people  the  way  you  stirred  them  to-day.  And, 
if  you  like  to  give  up  your  peace  and  your  content- 
ment, to  work  for  what  you  believe  in,  that's  fine. 
I  know  it  isn't  vulgar  ambition.  Do  forget  what  I 
said!" 

The  lines  on  his  face  drew  and  deepened.  For  a 
while  he  said  nothing,  then  words  came  from  him 
with  an  effort. 

"  I'll  never  forget,  then.  It  was  because  you 
thought  well  of  me  you  said  it.  But  don't  be  de- 
ceiving yourself  with  words.  It  isn't  for  the  sake 
of  the  cause  I'd  go  in.  It  would  just  be  to  break 
down  the  barrier  between  you  and  me." 

He  spoke  with  passionate  weight,  and  she  looked 
at  him  with  eyes  full  of  trouble.  She  had  not 
sought  it,  this  evidence  of  her  power ;  but  she  could 
not  forego  the  hearing  of  it.  The  pride  of  her  sex 
was  strong  in  her,  filling  her  with  the  sense  of  what 
she  had  to  give  or  to  withhold.  Almost  instinctively 
she  fell  back  on  the  eternal  evasion. 


222  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  There  isn't  any  barrier. 
Aren't  we  friends,  you  and  I  ?  " 

In  spite  of  her,  her  voice  shook;  she  trembled 
under  the  eyes  that  seemed  to  pierce  her  unformed 
thought  as  it  shaped  itself. 

"  'Tis  your  own  fault  if  I  speak,"  he  went  on ; 
"  no  —  but  your  own  goodness.  But  for  your  kind 
heart,  I  would  never  have  lifted  my  eyes  to  look  at 
you.  But,  since  I  lifted  them  —  and  since  I  saw," 
he  said,  with  an  emphasis,  "  why  would  I  not  speak 
the  thing  I  have  in  my  heart  ?  " 

"  Since  I  saw."  The  words  bore  in  over  her 
mind,  loosing  a  flood  of  thoughts.  What  had  he 
seen  ?  Half  of  her  received  with  anger,  and  almost 
with  ridicule,  the  imputation  that  what  she  felt  for 
him  was  love.  But  the  other  half  doubted.  There 
seemed  to  be  two  selves  in  her  —  one  reluctant, 
angry,  eager  to  be  free ;  the  other,  and  it  spoke  the 
louder,  asking  whether,  after  all,  the  chiefest  thing 
in  life  was  not  to  be  tender  of  this  life  that  had  such 
desperate  need  of  her?  It  was  as  if  they  stood  in 
the  desert,  and  she  held  a  cup  of  water.  Should  she 
drink  it  herself?  or  should  she  follow  the  other 
prompting  that  said  "  give  "  ? 

And  present  with  her  always  was  the  thought 
that  this  turmoil  within  her  was  somehow  manifest 
to  him.  Words  would  be  a  relief  from  that  silent 
scrutiny.  So,  at  least,  she  would  know  what  was 
spoken,  what  was  heard. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  223 

"  Of  course  you  may  speak,"  she  answered. 
"  But  truly  —  truly,  you  are  wrong.  There  is  no 
barrier." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  know  better,  Miss  Car- 
teret.  But  it  is  this  way.  What  I  told  you  of  the 
League  party  was  true,  and  the  easier  it  should  be 
to  rise  in  it.  And  if  a  man  was  a  leader  —  one  of 
the  five  or  six  with  millions  at  their  back  —  then, 
surely,  he  would  be  something  ?  He  might  come  to 
one  like  you  and  ask  —  what  I  could  not  ask  you 
to-day  ?  Might  he  not  ?  " 

Here,  at  least,  was  an  issue  that  shaped  itself  to 
a  definite  answer.  She  knew  instinctively  that  Owen 
Conroy,  once  committed  to  such  a  career,  would  no 
longer  be  the  man  that  she  had  known  and  divined ; 
that  he  would  cease  to  have  any  hold  on  her  imagi- 
nation; and  yet  that,  if  he  entered  such  a  life  by 
her  counsel,  she  would  feel  herself  bound  to  him  by 
the  tie  that  she  had  laid  on  his  life.  This,  at  least, 
she  could  avoid.  And  it  was  part  of  her  loyalty  to 
be  true  with  him  —  true  to  the  ideal  conception  that 
she  held  of  his  powers. 

"  You  make  it  very  hard  for  me,"  she  answered 
quietly,  putting  as  much  of  kindness  into  her  voice 
as  she  could.  "  You  ask  me  to  advise  you ;  and, 
I  think,  if  you  do  go  into  Parliament,  you  may 
very  likely  do  what  you  speak  of,  and  be  what 
you  mean  to  be.  And,  if  so,  you  will  certainly 
find  that  many  of  the  people  who  set  up  barriers 


224  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

will  take  them  away.  But  — "  and  she  stopped 
significantly. 

"  'Tis  not  that  I  want  to  know,"  he  said  eagerly. 
"  'Tis  only  this.  Would  you  advise  me  to  do  what 
I  am  speaking  of?"  His  voice  took  a  note  of 
almost  angry  passion,  as  he  went  on.  "  Well,  you 
know  why  I  think  of  doing  it !  "  Then  he  stopped 
for  an  instant,  his  eyes  heavy  on  her.  "  'Tis 
between  you  and  me,  and  no  one  else !  "  he  added. 

Now,  at  last,  it  was  come  to  a  choice  for  her. 
She  felt  as  if  she  were  shut  in  between  walls.  There 
was  no  way  to  elude  the  passionate  question  in  his 
eyes. 

She  spoke  at  last,  slowly,  and  with  pain. 

"  Between  me  and  you  it  would  make  no  differ- 
ence. You  might  be  a  great  man,  but  you  would  be 
no  greater  in  my  eyes  than  you  are  now." 

She  saw  the  expectation  pass  into  perplexity  — 
into  a  despair  in  which  a  ray  of  hope  lingered,  and 
her  heart  smote  her  sorely. 

She  leant  forward,  her  eyes  streaming,  and  in 
both  her  hands  she  caught  his. 

"  Oh,  my  friend,  give  it  up  —  give  it  all  up.  Give 
up  the  thought  of  me  —  I  mean  the  thought  of 
me  like  that.  It  will  only  make  you  miserable.  Let 
me  go  away,  and  do  not  make  me  sorry  that  I  ever 
came." 

He  gripped  her  hands  tight  and  fixed  his  eyes  on 
her  for  a  minute. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  225 

"  Give  up  the  thought  of  you !  "  he  answered,  with 
terrible  intensity.  "  I  would  rather  live  in  torment 
with  the  thought  of  you  than  have  the  peace  of  all 
the  lonely  angels." 

She  did  not  dare  to  look  at  him ;  the  pain  was  too 
fierce  in  the  white  face.  As  she  wavered  before  him, 
she  doubted  what  would  come  next.  But  with  the 
very  touch  of  his  hand,  and  the  sense  of  his  nearness, 
there  was  born  in  her  a  growing  revulsion.  Instincts 
in  her  older  than  the  sympathy  born  of  intellectual 
admiration  woke  and  stirred.  Then  she  felt  her 
hands  loosed. 

"  That  was  the  right  advice  you  gave  me,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  not  my  place  nor  my  work.  I  will 
make  my  own  life  and  gain  my  own  ends  in  my 
own  way." 

There  was  a  passion  of  unspoken  resentment  in 
his  voice  and  in  his  gesture;  and  he  made  as  if 
to  leave  her.  But  she  called  him  back.  Her  head 
was  turned  away,  for  her  eyes  were  swollen  with 
tears. 

"  Don't  go,"  she  stammered.  "  I  can't  let  you  go 
like  that.  I'm  so  sorry  —  so  dreadfully  sorry.  But 
I'm  going  away  from  here  at  once,  and  you  won't 
mind  in  a  little  while."  Then  she  straightened  her- 
self to  face  him,  and  held  out  her  hand.  "  Good- 
bye," she  said. 

She  was  determined  not  to  be  afraid,  and  yet  she 
felt  as  if  she  stood  on  a  cliff-edge,  and  a  little  thing 
Q 


226  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

might  throw  her  off  her  balance  and  send  her  life 
crashing  to  ruin. 

But  he  did  not  take  her  hand.  He  stood  a  little 
way  off  gazing  at  her  with  that  trance-like  gaze,  and 
he  spoke  like  one  in  a  dream. 

"  There  is  a  barrier  between  us,  here,  this  day.  I 
can  see  it  and  feel  it.  But  it  will  not  be  there  always. 
I  have  no  call  for  saying  good-bye.  Day  and  night, 
night  and  day,  my  thought  will  be  mingled  with  the 
thought  of  you ;  the  eyes  of  my  soul  will  be  on  your 
eyes  always.  You  may  go  away,  but  you  cannot 
take  yourself  from  me.  It  is  only  in  the  body  that 
you  bid  good-bye  to  me,  and  it  is  a  hard  thing  for 
soul  and  body  to  be  parted.  One  day  you  will  come 
back,  and  then  there  will  be  no  barrier." 

For  an  endless  moment  he  gazed  at  her  without 
speaking,  then  a  mask  of  stone  seemed  to  settle 
down  upon  his  face. 

"  Good-bye  to  you,  Miss  Carteret,"  he  said,  tak- 
ing up  his  hat. 

His  bearing  was  perfectly  impassive  as  he  left  the 
room,  and  Millicent  heard  him  exchange  greetings 
quietly  with  Margaret  before  he  went  out  into  the 
lane. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MILLICENT  ranged  up  and  down  the  little  room  in 
a  kind  of  inarticulate  despair.  Her  whole  nature 
was  up  in  revolt.  It  was  monstrous  —  intolerable 
—  ridiculous,  she  thought  —  this  assumption  of  a 
control  over  her.  Her  first  movement  was  to  write 
and  tell  him  how  far  he  deluded  himself,  if  he 
thought  that  only  the  barrier  he  talked  of  kept  her 
from  falling  into  his  arms.  No  barrier  would 
hinder  her  from  giving  herself  where  she  chose.  If 
she  had  misled  him,  that  was  only  because  she  had 
been  so  unwilling  to  give  even  necessary  pain,  so 
quick  to  see  where  he  shrank. 

And  yet  as  she  framed  this  indignant  justification 
for  herself,  a  question  began  to  arise  in  her  mind. 
Was  it  possible  that  he  could  be  right?  that  this 
feeling,  so  new  to  her,  should  be  what  all  women 
talked  of  and  speculated  over  —  that  she  was  really 
bound  to  him  by  an  inevitable  constraint  —  that  she 
would  never  forget  the  passion  of  his  voice,  the 
appeal  in  his  eyes?  His  eyes  haunted  her  till  her 

own  streamed  with  tears,  and  she  was  ready  to  fly 
227 


228  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

after  him  and  implore  him  not  to  be  unhappy.  Yet, 
at  the  same  time,  she  remembered  and  realized  how, 
as  he  drew  nearer,  she  seemed  to  recoil  the  farther 
from  him ;  how  she  listened  willingly  when  he  spoke 
of  himself  and  his  interests,  but  was  ill-pleased 
when  he  spoke  of  her.  She  had  encouraged  him  to 
talk  of  what  lay  nearest  to  his  heart,  just  because 
she  felt  no  other  interest  but  one  of  the  brain.  It  was 
so  different,  she  reflected.  When  Frank  Norman 
was  with  her,  she  was  studiously  superficial;  she 
pushed  away  every  hint  of  personal  faiths  and 
aspirations.  She  was  on  guard  against  herself,  in 
a  word.  And  yet  at  the  most  he  had  looked  as  if 
he  had  wished  to  talk  of  things  that  lay  deeper. 
And  because  she  had  consciously  wished  to  hear  him 
speak,  she  had  been  perverse.  Perhaps,  she  thought, 
she  had  only  misunderstood.  He  liked  her,  no 
doubt.  But  this  other  man  —  there  was  no  ques- 
tion with  him  of  liking  or  of  friendship.  There  was 
the  bitter  need  of  love.  His  was  not  the  passion 
to  be  put  off  and  held  in  check  by  a  laugh  or  a  light 
word.  She  was  angry  with  Frank  that  he  had  not 
spoken. 

It  was  unbearable.  Now,  at  the  very  moment 
when  she  wanted  a  pretext  to  go  —  when  she  had 
told  Conroy  that  she  was  going  —  there  was  this 
golfing  excursion.  If  she  went  now,  she  would 
feel  that  she  was  going  in  order  that  a  young  man 
who  very  likely  meant  no  more  than  friendly  flirta- 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  229 

tion,  should  give  her  the  opportunity  really  to  know 
her  own  mind.  Suppose  he  did  not  speak  —  how 
would  she  feel  then?  She  would  not  be  able  to 
look  herself  in  the  face,  she  thought.  She  was 
not  going  to  let  him  think  that  she  ran  after  him. 
If  he  wanted  to  say  he  loved  her,  why  had  he  not 
said  it  before?  She  would  go  back  to  London. 

Her  ponderings  had  reached  the  point  of  con- 
sidering the  necessary  explanations,  when  Margaret 
broke  in  upon  them,  accompanied  by  the  usual  irrup- 
tion of  cats  and  dogs.  And  as  the  spotty  tortoise- 
shell  arched  her  back  and  rubbed  herself  against 
Millicent's  skirts,  and  Toby  pressed  a  moist  cool 
nose  into  her  hand,  and  Margaret's  genial  person 
bustled  through  the  room,  the  girl  felt  a  great  scat- 
tering of  the  mists. 

"  And  are  you  rightly  rested  now,  miss  ? 
Troth,  then,  I  was  giving  Mr.  Norman  a  talking  to 
for  trailing  you  round  that  long  way.  But  still 
and  all  it  would  be  a  pity  for  you  to  be  here  con- 
venient to  it  and  never  see  the  Doon  Rock  and  the 
Ardcolumb  Station." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  anything,  Mar- 
garet." 

"  Would  ye  not,  then  ?  'Deed  then,  I  was  just 
thinking  it  was  a  wonder  you'd  be  "staying  always 
about  this  ould  lough  and  not  away  with  you  to  look 
at  some  of  the  other  places  in  the  country." 


230  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  Are  you  trying  to  get  rid  of  me,  Margaret  ?  " 
said  Millicent,  laughing.  "  I  believe  some  hand- 
some young  man  has  written  to  say  he  wants  you  to 
put  him  up." 

"  Oh,  now,  Miss  Carteret,  I  know  well  it's  joking 
you  are!  It  would  be  the  quare  day  when  I  would 
try  to  get  rid  of  the  likes  of  you.  It's  just  that  I 
was  feared  you  might  be  getting  lonesome  like  and 
tired  of  being  in  the  one  place,  for  sure  there's  noth- 
ing here  at  all  to  see,  and  they  do  be  telling  me  that 
the  scenery  out  by  Douros  yonder  is  just  wonderful, 
and  the  quality  does  be  coming  every  day  from 
England  to  see  it." 

Millicent  looked  at  her  severely.  "  Margaret, 
some  one  has  been  putting  things  into  your 
head?" 

"  'Deed,  then,  miss,  not  a  one  of  me  would  de- 
ceive you.  It  was  Mr.  Norman  that  was  talking 
to  me  outside  the  door,  when  he  was  after  coming 
in  with  you :  and  quarely  vexed  I  was  to  see  him 
going  away  like  that,  and  not  staying  to  take  as 
much  as  a  sup  of  tea.  But,  says  he  to  me,  *  Marga- 
ret, do  your  best,  now,  and  persuade  Miss  Carteret 
to  come  with  us  on  Tuesday.  There's  going  to  be 
great  doings  down  at  Douros,  and  she  oughtn't  to 
be  going  out  of  the  county  and  thinking  that  there's 
no  kind  of  diversions  in  it.  She'll  maybe  listen  to 
you  ? '  he  says.  '  Tell  her  that  she  must  see  Douros 
Bay.'  '  And,  sure,'  says  I,  '  what  call  have  I  to  be 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  231 

talking  to  a  young  lady  about  the  like  of  that  ? ' 
But  *  Never  mind,'  says  he.  And,  indeed,  then. 
Miss  Carteret,  and  it's  the  truth  I'm  telling  you;  I 
wouldn't  like  to  see  Mr.  Frank  disappointed,  and 
it's  sore  disappointed  he'll  be  if  you  don't  go.  And 
there's  that  wee  blouse  you  have,  miss,  with  the 
lovely  lace.  You  never  wore  it  since  you  were 
here ;  and  I'm  sure  there's  not  one  of  them  all  would 
look  as  nice  as  you." 

While  Margaret  delivered  this  tirade,  fussing 
round  the  table  and  fetching  out  properties  from  the 
cupboard  in  the  corner,  Millicent  lay  back  in  her 
chair,  and  the  laughter  mounted  in  her  eyes  and 
flowed  gradually  over  all  her  face.  At  last  she 
jumped  up  with  a  sudden  movement,  dislodging  the 
cat  that  lay  curled  up  on  her  knee. 

"  Oh,  Margaret,  you're  a  treasure !  I'll  go  and 
put  on  the  blouse  at  once !  " 

In  ten  minutes  she  was  back,  and  swept  into 
Margaret's  kitchen  with  a  twirl  and  a  pirouette  — 
a  dainty  figure  in  the  soft,  fluttery,  cherry-coloured 
silken  garment,  that  contrasted  boldly  with  her  mass 
of  hair. 

"  There !  Shall  I  be  grand  enough,  do  you  think  ? 
Shall  I  do  you  credit,  Margaret  ?  " 

After  dinner,  Millicent  wrote  a  little  note  to  Frank, 
with  an  enclosure  for  Mrs.  Irwin;  and  all  that 
evening  she  devoted  to  Margaret  in  an  elaborate 
discussion  of  chiffons,  arising  out  of  certain  back 


232  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

numbers  of  the  fashion  papers  which  Mrs.  Carteret 
sent  by  every  other  post  to  her  poor  exile  in  this 
benighted  land;  and  if  Millicent  neglected  them, 
at  least  they  were  not  lost  upon  the  lady  of  the 
house. 

But,  late  in  the  night,  when  the  cottage  was 
hushed,  and  the  moonlight  streamed  in  through  the 
white  muslin  curtains,  Millicent  found  no  such  easy 
way  of  escape  from  her  questioning  thoughts.  Her 
brain  seemed  like  a  machine  that  has  broken  loose 
and  goes  on  and  on,  pounding  relentlessly.  The 
same  things  kept  recurring  again  and  again  to  her 
mind,  and  would  not  be  put  away.  The  tragedy  in 
Conroy's  eyes,  that  called  for  her  to  bring  solace; 
the  dreadful  shattering  of  hope  as  she  spoke  to  him ; 
then  the  new  and  strange  purpose,  like  a  menace, 
that  rose  in  them ;  then  the  fright  when  he  hung 
over  her,  and  her  will  seemed  paralyzed.  Fear  — 
it  was  fear  that  haunted  her ;  fear  for  her  freedom. 
Whether  it  was  madness  or  reason,  she  could  not 
but  be  impressed  with  his  belief  in  the  reality  of 
what  existed  for  him.  He  said  that  he  saw  into 
her  mind  —  and  he  saw  that  she  would  come  to  him 
some  day.  It  seemed  impossible;  yet  she  could  not 
shake  off  the  dread  that  he  might  see  clearer  than 
she  did  herself.  And  this  haunting  presence  ob- 
scured all  else.  She  thought  of  Frank  Norman,  and 
she  could  not  separate  him  from  the  same  obsession. 
It  was  as  if  she  shirked  a  challenge  by  taking  refuge 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  233 

there.  Conroy  had  spoken  truth,  she  thought.  "  It 
is  between  you  and  me."  The  one  man  came  to  her 
offering  the  easy  way,  the  pleasant  level  of  existence ; 
but  the  other  made  a  claim  that  taxed  and  over- 
taxed all  the  powers  of  her  nature.  And  he  came 
no  longer  as  a  suppliant.  When  she  refused,  he  held 
her  bound  by  her  own  gifts.  He  arrogated  her  as 
a  part  of  himself.  He  wove  a  web  of  words  and 
looks  about  her,  lest  she  should  break  away  and  be 
free. 

As  she  tossed  and  sought  for  sleep,  she  began  to 
be  aware  that  it  was  light.  A  cock  crowed,  and  a 
cool  waft  of  air  came  in  through  her  open  window. 
She  got  up  and  dressed,  and  quietly  she  unfastened 
the  window  of  her  sitting-room  and  slipped  out  on 
to  the  lane.  Red  was  flushing  in  the  east  over  the 
hills,  and  an  infinite  freshness  was  in  the  air;  in 
the  quiet  a  rustle  of  the  reeds  came  to  her 
from  the  lake.  It  was  as  if  a  cool  hand  had 
been  laid  on  her  forehead,  and  she  rejoiced  in  the 
sanity  of  the  daylight,  drawing  in  deep  draughts 
of  the  dew-laden  air.  She  heard  the  cows 
munching  the  moist  grass,  and  her  own  life  ran 
full  in  her  veins  again.  Out  here  she  could 
think  within  herself  that  Frank  Norman  would 
not  be  displeased  when  he  got  her  note  in  the  morn- 
ing. It  was  pleasant  to  think  that  in  the  world 
there  was  still  some  one  to  laugh  with,  still  the  ease 
of  equal  companionship. 


234  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

And  when  she  stole  back,  clambering  over  the 
low  window-sill,  she  threw  herself,  dressed  as  she 
was,  on  her  bed,  and  slept  sweetly  till  Margaret 
came  in  and  wakened  and  scolded  her  for  such 
vagaries. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

LATE,,  too,  into  that  night  Owen  Conroy  was  rang- 
ing the  country;  not  with  the  loose  gait  of  the 
workers  in  fields,  but  striding  in  the  long  step  of  one 
who  urges  his  body  to  keep  pace  with  the  rhythm 
of  his  swift  thought.  Far  up  on  a  path  leading 
into  the  mountain,  folk  passed  him  as  the  stars  came 
out.  And  two  hours  before  midnight  he  stood 
where  he  could  see  three  arms  of  the  Atlantic 
among  their  bordering  hills,  and  lakes  and  tarns 
shining  in  the  moonlight  through  that  land  of  many 
waters. 

But  in  the  cool  night  and  the  wide  spaces  he  found 
nothing  of  what  he  sought.  Their  power  swayed 
against  his  effort  to  fix  a  single  image  before  him, 
and,  on  a  sudden  thought,  he  turned,  and,  swifter 
than  ever,  faced  for  his  home. 

Windows  were  dark  in  Killydonnell  as  he  passed 
through  the  village,  but  in  his  own  cottage,  where 
it  stood  screened  from  the  road  by  a  line  of  scrubby 
alders  rising  behind  a  thorn  hedge,  a  light  shone. 
Ellen  Dooey  sat  or  crouched  on  her  three-legged 
235 


236  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

stool  by  the  chimney  corner  of  the  clay-floored 
kitchen. 

She  made  no  sign  of  any  greeting,  nor  did  Con- 
roy  take  notice  of  her  presence.  He  kicked  the 
smouldering  sods,  and  set  a  chair  before  the  fire; 
then,  from  a  recess  behind  the  dresser,  dragged  out 
a  bundle  of  dry  sticks,  flung  them  on  the  peat,  and 
fixed  his  eyes  intently  on  the  leaping  blaze.  The 
old  woman  watched  him  for  a  moment,  stirred  un- 
easily, then  spoke  in  the  Gaelic. 

"  The  night  is  hot.  What  need  is  there  on  you 
for  a  fire?" 

He  turned  slowly  to  her.  "  What  need  was  there 
on  you  for  water  out  of  Doon  well  to-day  ?  " 

She  trembled  and  averted  her  eyes.  Then  she 
answered  sullenly. 

"  They  that  told  you  would  know  well.  They 
that  made  the  sickness  broke  the  cure." 

"  What  sickness  is  there  in  it  ?  " 

"What  sickness?  What  sickness  is  there  in  it 
when  a  young  man  loses  his  sleep  out  of  his  nights, 
and  the  peace  out  of  his  days?  'Tis  the  sickness 
that  has  only  the  one  cure  for  it,  unless  by  the 
power  of  God.  And  'tis  little  God  will  do  for  us 
against  her,  I'm  thinking,  that  could  spill  the  good 
water  from  between  my  hands  before  ever  it  was 
out  of  sight  of  the  well." 

"  Hold  your  whisht,  woman.  There  was  no  art 
nor  power  in  the  thing  at  all,  but  your  own  foolish- 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  237 

ness."  He  turned  from  her  and  gazed  again  into  the 
fire.  Then  he  spoke  again  dreamily.  "  And  if  'twas 
for  me  you  drew  the  water,  and  all  the  cures  of  all 
the  world  were  in  it,  I  would  rather  my  sickness  nor 
that  cure." 

"  Och,  och,"  she  cried,  and  rocked  her  body 
to  and  fro  as  she  sat  on  her  stool;  and  for  a  long 
time  no  word  was  said  between  them  as  she  moaned 
and  swayed,  and  he  watched  the  crackling  twigs 
spire  up  in  flame.  Then  the  old  woman  spoke 
again. 

"  She  came  from  far,  and  there  is  no  quiet  in  her 
face." 

"  There  is  better  than  quiet,"  the  man  answered, 
as  if  speaking  to  the  vision  that  was  before  his 
straining  eyes.  "  She  came  from  far,  but  she  came, 
and  a  man  would  go  far  following  her." 

" '  The  crow  and  the  sea-gull  follow  the  plough 
together,  but  when  did  they  mate  ? '  is  the  saying. 
Och,  Owen,"  she  said,  changing  her  tone,  "  what 
use  is  there  in  thinking  of  her  ?  Sure  the  man  that 
she's  for  is  the  man  that  was  with  her  to-day  at  the 
well.  I  saw  it  in  the  eyes  of  them." 

Conroy's  face  darkened.  "  Is  it  he  ?  He  has  the 
light  word  for  her  pleasure,  and  the  light  laugh ! 
But  will  he  bring  the  look  into  her  face  that  was 
there  when  I  spoke  to  her  to-day  across  the  crowd  ? 
Ay,"  he  went  on,  with  his  gaze  again  fixed  upon  the 
fire,  "  I  could  see  the  vapour  of  her  body  swaying 


238  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

towards  me  as  the  flame  sways  to  a  leaf  that  you 
hold  above  it." 

Then  he  turned  sharply  to  her.  "  Did  you  never 
hear  tell  of  a  way  that  could  bend  the  mind  of  a 
woman  to  the  will  of  a  man,  though  he  was  a  keeper 
of  the  cows,  and  her  a  princess  on  her  throne?  " 

A  strange  quick  look  came  into  the  old  woman's 
eyes,  and  she  spoke  to  herself  as  if  recalling  a  for- 
gotten song. 

"  A  cloth  that  was  worn,  or  a  comb  out  of  her 
hair;  ay,  or  maybe  the  hair  itself;  and  to  put  them 
on  the  figure  you  would  make.  That  was  the  old 
way." 

"  And  a  foolish  way,"  he  said.  "  What  power 
has  the  like  of  that  over  man  or  woman  ?  'Tis  the 
spirit  that  has  power  upon  the  spirit,  and  'twas 
not  the  figure  that  wasted  in  the  fire,  'twas  the 
figure  that  the  mind  built  up  about  the  wax  and  the 
clay  and  burnt  in  the  fire  of  longing  —  'twas  that 
that  wrought  upon  the  spirit  and  filled  it  with  a  rest- 
less desire." 

"  They  were  wise  men  and  wise  women  that  used 
the  old  way,"  she  muttered,  "  and  there  was  still 
some  dressing  on  the  image." 

"  Listen,  now,  and  I'll  tell  you,  Ellen.  They 
were  wise  that  found  the  way,  but  their  wisdom  is 
forgotten.  In  the  sleep,  souls  are  made  loose  from 
the  body,  and  'tis  easier  calling  them  where  they 
were  used  to  be.  There  is  still  something  of  the 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  239 

body  that  they  know  lingering  about  the  cloth 
that  was  worn,  or  the  lock  of  hair,  or  the  glass 
where  the  face  was  thrown,  or  the  picture  the  sun 
printed." 

"  Och,  now,  did  she  give  you  her  picture  ?  "  the 
old  woman  broke  in,  with  an  uncanny  laughter. 

A  strange  look  of  triumph  came  into  Conroy's 
face,  and  he  spoke  passionately :  — 

"  The  glass  takes  the  likeness  of  the  body  and 
loses  it,  and  the  paper  that  men  make  takes  the  like- 
ness and  holds  it.  And  yet  there  was  a  wise  man 
said  that  he  who  could  fix  upon  paper  the  likeness 
of  the  body  must  have  power  upon  the  spirit,  for 
something  of  the  spirit  must  pass  into  the  image 
before  it  could  have  the  likeness.  But  listen,  now, 
Ellen.  If  a  man  could  make  his  body  a  mirror  for 
her  spirit ;  if  he  could  catch  with  his  spirit  the  image 
of  her  spirit  shining  through  her  body,  and  could 
hold  it  before  his  eyes,  and  his  hand  could  set  it 
down  to  be  always  before  him,  the  way  that  his 
desire  and  his  thought  should  never  wane,  —  would 
not  that  have  power  to  draw  her  spirit  from  its 
rangings  to  the  place  where  he  called  it,  and  where 
it  should  know  its  own  likeness  ?  " 

"  God  help  us,"  she  muttered,  dazed  with  the 
violence  of  his  half-comprehended  words ;  "  it  is  a 
strong  charm." 

He  sprang  up  and  stood  erect  before  her,  his  eyes 
lit  with  a  wild  fever. 


240  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  Well,  then,  Ellen,  'tis  I  will  do  it ;  and  when 
she  sleeps  in  her  bed  at  nights,  my  eyes  will  be  on 
the  eyes  of  her  image,  and  her  spirit  will  feel  the 
power  of  my  spirit  drawing  her  to  me  as  my  words 
drew  her  this  day ;  and  the  face  of  her  will  be  there 
before  me,  and  round  it  her  spirit  will  shape  itself 
into  the  likeness  of  a  body,  and  will  know  the  road 
to  my  call  as  ready  as  ranging  bees  know  the  road 
to  their  hive.  'Tis  not  I  that  will  go  to  her,  Ellen, 
'tis  she  will  come  to  me;  and  there  will  be  a  day 
when  I  shall  hear  her  knock  on  yon  door  and  come 
over  the  threshold  and  cross  the  floor  to  me  standing 
at  this  fire." 

"  Speak  low,  Owen,  speak  low,"  the  old  woman 
entreated;  for  he  was  pouring  forth  the  words  at 
the  pitch  of  his  voice,  and  the  air  rang  with  them. 
"  It  is  a  madness  that  is  on  you." 

But  he  burst  into  a  wild  laughter,  and,  flinging 
more  faggots  on  the  turf,  fell  again  to  his  reading 
of  the  flame. 


CHAPTER   XX 

"  I  BELIEVE  in  my  heart  it  is  going  to  lift,"  said 
Frank,  staring  out  from  the  verandah  of  the  hotel 
across  the  tumbling  line  of  sand  hills  to  the  black 
ring  of  mountains  which  shut  in  the  view. 

For,  in  Donegal,  no  one  counts  on  a  continuance 
of  fair  weather  with  impunity,  and  for  two  days 
Millicent  had  been  seeing  what  the  country  could 
do  in  the  way  of  wet.  Nevertheless,  early  that 
morning  she  had  been  gathered  up  by  a  detachment 
of  Mrs.  Irwin's  party,  had  been  wrapped  in  mackin- 
toshes, and  set  on  an  outside  car,  and,  at  the  end  of 
fifteen  moist  miles,  found  the  golf  competition  be- 
ginning to  drag  itself  through  a  downpour  of  warm 
rain.  Now,  however,  the  downpour  was  sinking 
into  a  drizzle,  and  rifts  of  a  lighter  grey  showed  in 
the  sky.  Frank,  who  had  played  and  lost  his 
round  before  lunch,  appeared  reconciled  to  the 
fact  by  the  opportunity  of  attendance  upon  Milli- 
cent. But  upon  the  rest  of  the  party,  grouped 
together  in  the  crowded  verandah,  there  was  a  set- 
tled gloom. 

R  241 


242  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"Willy  ought  to  be  back  by  this,"  the  pretty 
Fanny  Irwin  was  saying.  "  He's  far  out  of  his  turn 
already." 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  stewards  pushed  his 
way  to  the  group. 

"  Where's  Irwin,  at  all  ?  We'll  have  to  scratch 
him.  There's  only  two  pairs  more  to  send  out  in 
the  second  round.  It's  all  nonsense,  anyway.  He 
was  up  all  night  with  this  old  woman,  and  he  won't 
be  fit  for  anything,  after  riding  twenty  miles  over 
the  mountains  on  a  day  like  this." 

"  There  wasn't  much  the  matter  with  him  this 
morning,  Thorpe,  was  there  ? "  put  in  Frank, 
maliciously;  and  the  secretary  looked  a  little  crest- 
fallen. 

"  I  was  off  my  game,"  he  said.  "  But  it  stands  to 
reason  a  man  can't  last  for  ever  without  sleep  or 
rest.  Why,  Tomlinson,  who's  to  play  him.  had  a 
walk-over  in  the  first  round;  but  he  wouldn't  so 
much  as  smoke  a  weed  after  lunch." 

A  shout  went  up  from  the  party. 

"  Here  he  is,  anyway !  "  said  Frank.  "  Tomlinson 
won't  have  another  walk-over." 

There  was  a  tall  figure  seen  driving  a  bicycle 
desperately  up  the  wet,  heavy  road.  Greeted  with 
many  cries  of  welcome,  the  young  doctor  jumped  off 
his  bicycle  —  and  such  a  bicycle !  —  spliced  together 
with  bootlaces,  the  tyres  artfully  swathed  here  and 
there  with  bandages  of  lint. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  243 

"Am  I  in  time?"  he  said,  making  his  way  into 
the  hall. 

"  Just,"  said  the  secretary.  "  But,  man,  you  can't 
go  on  at  once !  " 

"  Can't  I  ?  "  said  Willy  Irwin ;  and  he  summoned 
the  waiter,  and  gave  an  order.  "  Where's  Tom- 
linson  ?  " 

The  neat,  well-appointed  Englishman  arrived, 
and  looked  with  amazement  at  his  opponent,  huge 
in  his  rough  homespun,  and  splashed  with  the  mud 
of  twenty  hilly  miles. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  in  some  amusement,  "  how's 
the  patient  ?  " 

"  First  rate.  I  just  removed  the  dressings,  and 
left  her  as  happy  as  you  please.  Sorry  I  kept  you 
waiting;  but  the  roads  were  awful." 

"  It  seems  to  me  frightfully  hard  luck.  But 
Thorpe  says  we  must  go  on  at  once.  How  soon  will 
you  be  ready  ?  " 

"  About  two  minutes." 

The  waiter  appeared,  bringing  two  eggs  and  two 
glasses  of  whisky,  and  a  long  tumbler.  Willy  Irwin 
broke  the  eggs  into  the  tumbler,  poured  the  whisky 
in  on  them,  beat  up  the  whole  with  a  spoon,  while  a 
crowd  admired  and  wondered. 

"  Good  Heavens !  "  whispered  Millicent  to  Frank. 
"  Is  he  going  to  drink  all  that  ?  " 

There  was  no  mistake  about  it.  "  Well !  "  said 
Millicent,  as  the  young  man  handed  the  empty  glass 


244  THE   OLD    KNOWLEDGE 

to  the  waiter,  and  strode  out  of  doors  beside  his 
opponent. 

"Come  on,"  said  Frank  to  Millicent;  "let's  see 
the  show." 

As  they  rounded  the  corner  of  the  hotel,  blue  sky 
showed  to  windward  and  overhead.  They  climbed 
with  the  rest  of  a  little  crowd  which  followed  to  the 
top  of  the  small  rocky  bluff  that  sheltered  the  hotel 
from  the  winds,  and  the  bay  was  below  them.  Now 
the  men  were  driving  off,  and  the  Englishman  hit  a 
clean  stroke,  low  and  straight,  with  an  upward  curl 
as  it  flew.  But  Willy  Irwin,  like  a  giant  refreshed, 
out-drove  him,  and  the  pair  pushed  on  swiftly  across 
the  short  crisp  turf  after  their  balls. 

"  It's  on  the  putting  greens  the  fatigue  will  tell," 
said  an  observer.  But,  when  Willy  Irwin  holed  a 
three-yard  putt,  and  won  the  hole,  this  also  became 
doubtful;  and  by  the  time  he  had  divided  the  next 
hole,  and  won  the  next,  and  the  next  after  that, 
it  became  pretty  clear  that  the  issue  was  not 
doubtful. 

At  the  fifth  putting  green  they  were  far  out  among 
the  sand  hills,  and  the  course  turned  to  cross  the 
hotel  front,  and  sweep  round  and  back.  Frank 
saw  the  opportunity  that  for  all  the  day  he  had  been 
watching. 

"  Stop  here,"  he  said  to  Millicent.  "  Willy  has 
him,  right  enough.  You  don't  want  to  tramp  all  the 
way  round.  It's  bad  going,  and  we  can  meet  them, 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  245 

and  come  back  for  the  last  four  holes.  Come  out  on 
to  the  strand  and  look  at  things." 

Millicent  stopped  for  a  moment  irresolute. 

"  Ah !  come  along!  "  he  said.  "  It's  the  loveliest 
strand  in  Ireland  —  and  the  sun's  coming  out !  " 

Sure  enough,  though  the  line  of  hills  to  the 
southward  was  set  against  inky  blackness,  away  to 
the  west,  where  they  looked,  the  sun  was  breaking 
through  a  smother  of  cloud.  Under  him  a  great 
pillar  of  mist  concealed  the  huge  bulk  of  Muckish, 
and  white  fleecy  wreaths  trailed  across  and  above 
the  lesser  heights.  It  was  wild  enough,  and  threat- 
ening, but  every  moment  brought  out  new  colour, 
and  it  seemed  to  Millicent  that  something  in  her 
answered  to  the  challenge  of  the  sun. 

"  Come  along,  then,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  look 
at  the  sea." 

Their  way  led  over  a  rough  carpet  of  short  crisp 
turf,  with  tufts  of  bent  springing  through  it,  and 
thickly  sprinkled  with  pale  empty  snail-shells.  It 
was  flowered  with  yellow  bed-straw,  and  yellow 
lady's  slipper,  but  the  lady's  slipper  buds  were 
orange,  passing  into  redness  at  the  tip.  There  were 
tiny  pansies,  blue  and  yellow,  and  odorous  patches, 
in  hue  midway  betwixt  lavender  and  purple,  where 
the  trodden  thyme  mingled  its  fragrance  with  the 
salt  in  the  air. 

Passing  between  two  bent-grown  hillocks,  they 
came  out  on  to  the  beach  —  a  beach  of  unbroken 


246  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

sand  that  stretched  for  some  three  miles  in  one  long 
curving  sweep  from  east  to  west,  broad  and  smooth 
to  the  rippled  water.  The  tide  was  ebbing,  and  its 
retreat  left  the  sand  stained  with  slow  gradations  of 
colour.  Just  above  the  drift  line,  where  it  was  piled 
in  mounded  heaps,  it  glistened  white  against  the 
silver  greyness  of  the  bent ;  thence  it  passed  through 
heightening  tints  of  warm  brown,  till,  by  the  water's 
edge,  it  turned  almost  orange.  But  the  fresh  breeze 
out  of  the  west  sent  line  after  line  of  crinkling  foam 
across  the  shallows,  and  there,  churning  it  into  froth, 
made  a  border  of  creamy  whiteness  dividing  sea 
from  shore:  a  frontier  otherwise  ill-marked,  for 
deep  wet  blue  was  breaking  through  the  grey  drift 
overhead,  and  the  soft  azure  repeated  itself  on  the 
filmy  mirror  of  the  wet  strand.  The  wind  came  off 
the  bay  like  a  caress  on  the  girl's  cheek,  and  she 
drew  in  her  breath  with  rapture,  as  they  set  their 
faces  westward  and  walked  away,  solitary  figures 
on  that  long  smooth  expanse. 

"  Isn't  it  lovely  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Doesn't  it  smell 
good  ?  " 

She  took  her  hat  off  and  paced  along,  swinging 
it,  while  the  sun  and  wind  played  with  her  bright 
hair.  Frank  watched  her  with  joy  in  every  move- 
ment of  her  body,  but  his  joy  was  tempered  with 
preoccupation,  as  he  debated  with  himself  on  the 
words  he  must  speak  and  the  moment  for  speaking. 
It  was  not  easy  to  break  in  on  her  impersonal  de- 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  247 

light.  So  they  walked  on  together,  he  a  little  em- 
barrassed, she  conscious  of  nothing  beyond  a  sense 
of  great  freedom.  Here  at  least  she  could  be  her- 
self;  here  at  least  there  was  sanity  in  the  large  air; 
here  were  no  distracting  cross  currents  of  doubt  and 
fear. 

As  they  walked  a  couple  of  sandpipers  ran  a  little 
way  on  the  sand  before  them,  then  rose,  and  as  they 
rose,  one  dropped  and  trailed  the  wing. 

"  Oh,  look  at  that  poor  bird,"  cried  Millicent;  but 
Frank  put  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

"  Stop  quite  still,"  he  said.    "  Watch  it." 

And  as  they  stood,  Frank  intently  scrutinizing 
the  level  sand,  the  bird  dodged  this  way  and  that  in 
circles,  keeping  always  near  a  certain  portion  of  the 
beach. 

"Ah,"  cried  Frank  at  last;  "there:  now  do  you 
see?" 

He  pointed  to  not  five  yards  from  where  they 
stood;  but  Millicent  still  saw  nothing.  Then,  as 
they  walked  to  it  she  saw  a  tiny  dot,  a  lump  of 
dogfish  eggs,  half  buried,  and  scarcely  bigger  than 
a  walnut.  Couched  beside  it  was  a  tiny  creature, 
indistinguishable  in  colour  from  the  sand,  and 
already  half  embedded  by  the  blowing  grains  that 
had  formed  in  those  two  minutes  a  little  rampart 
about  it.  Only  its  bright  eyes  showed  unmistak- 
able. Frank  picked  it  up  tenderly;  but  the  old 
bird  piped  so  pitifully,  and  ran  hither  and  thither 


248  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

in  such  commotion,  that  Millicent  begged  him  to 
put  it  down.  He  did  so,  setting  it  near  a  line  of 
drift  weed. 

"  Now,  turn  away,"  he  said  to  Millicent. 

In  half  a  minute  they  turned  back  and  the  little 
creature  was  as  lost  to  sight  as  if  the  ground  had 
swallowed  it. 

"  That's  magic,"  said  Millicent.  "  Oh  dear  me, 
what  a  lot  of  queer  things  and  nice  things  there  are 
in  this  nice  country.  I  wish  I  hadn't  got  to  go  away 
from  it ! " 

"  But  there's  no  need  to  talk  of  that,"  said  Frank. 
"  Why,  this  rain  will  have  put  the  river  in  splendid 
order.  You've  got  to  catch  another  salmon.  Going 
away.  Why,  you've  only  just  come." 

"  I'm  going  away  all  the  same,"  answered  Milli- 
cent, "  and  I  wish  so  much  I  wasn't." 

"  You  aren't  serious,"  he  said,  turning  on  her  a 
face  that  had  lost  colour  under  its  tan.  "  But 
when  did  you  decide  this?  Why!  Have  you  been 
bored?" 

"  Oh  no.  I've  not  been  bored,  I've  been  very 
happy.  But  I've  got  to  go." 

He  hesitated,  and  from  his  paleness  turned  very 
red. 

"  Come  and  sit  down  and  talk  about  it,"  he  said 
abruptly. 

Millicent  felt  her  self-possession  leaving  her,  but 
she  let  him  find  a  place  among  the  sand-hills, 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  249 

and  spread  the  mackintosh  he  carried  to  make  a 
seat. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  about  it  ?  "  he  began.  "  It  isn't 
anything  about  your  own  people  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  some  constraint.  "  There; 
I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it.  Only  things  have 
worried  me  rather,  and  I  think  I'd  better  go." 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  introduced  you  to  Conroy," 
he  said  impulsively. 

She  drew  patterns  nervously  on  the  sand  with  the 
toe  of  her  shoe. 

"  I  don't  think  I  wish  that,"  she  said  hesitatingly. 
"  But  I'm  not  sure." 

He  looked  hard  at  her.  "  You  know  —  I  don't 
understand.  And  I  haven't  said  things  —  because 
you  asked  me  not  to.  Last  Sunday  —  you  re- 
member ?  " 

"  I  remember,"  she  said,  very  low. 

"  Do  you  remember  —  another  day  ?  I  told  you  I 
was  more  keen  that  you  should  have  a  good  time 
than  about  anything  else." 

Words  seemed  to  fail  her.  She  nodded.  "  You 
don't  think  I  forget  ?  " 

He  stopped  again  and  looked  at  her ;  but  her  face 
was  turned  away. 

Again  there  was  a  pause,  he  hesitating  for  speech. 
A  kind  of  quixotism  possessed  him;  he  was  loath 
even  to  press  her  for  an  answer.  He  tried  to  put  his 
thought  into  words. 


250  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  You  don't  like  hurting  people,  do  you  ?  Can 
you  understand,  I  wonder,  that  I  wouldn't  like  to 
hurt  you  by  making  you  give  pain  —  well,  even  to 
me?" 

"  I  hate  hurting  people,"  she  answered,  with  her 
eyes  still  on  the  ground. 

He  stopped  again,  and  averted  his  face.  Then  he 
broke  out  abruptly. 

"  I  can't  help  it !  Since  I  met  you  I  have  thought 
of  nothing  but  you !  Will  you  not  give  me  leave  to 
speak  this  once  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him,  and  turned  away  her  eyes  from 
his.  Once  before  she  had  seen  that  entreaty  in  them 
—  the  day  they  had  met  by  the  bridge,  and  quar- 
relled —  and  she  had  turned  her  back  on  it.  And 
after  that  she  had  been  bitterly  sorry.  But  now,  in 
the  same  moment,  there  rose  before  her  the  vision 
of  another  face,  whose  passion  had  the  whiteness  of 
flame,  and  with  it  there  came  back  upon  her  the 
flood  of  doubts.  She  could  not  speak. 

"  Look !  "  he  went  on.  "  I  hate  to  urge  you.  But 
say  something.  If  you  say  '  No  '  to  me,  it  is  all  at 
an  end.  Then  I  shall  be  a  friend,  and  I  shall  have 
a  friend's  right  to  speak  to  you,  and  try  to  stop  you 
from  a  folly.  But  I  must  know  about  myself  first." 

Every  word  he  uttered  put  before  her  the  alterna- 
tives —  the  easy  way,  and  the  hard.  She  was  half 
angry  with  him,  for  this  gentle  and  considerate 
pleading,  that  lacked  the  force  of  that  other  im- 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  251 

perious  demand,  made  no  appeal  to  her  imagination. 
And  yet  she  knew  that  the  desire  of  her  heart 
was  in  her  reach.  But,  when  she  tried  to  answer, 
she  felt  herself  still  paralyzed  by  those  other  eyes; 
she  had  still  in  her  ears  that  other  voice.  She 
would  not  say  the  word  that  would  pass  sentence 
on  Owen  Conroy;  she  could  not  think  of  her 
own  happiness  till  she  had  forgotten  the  anguish 
on  his  face. 

"  Will  you  not  speak  to  me  ?  "  said  Frank,  as  the 
nervous  silence  remained  unbroken.  And  he  reached 
out  and  took  her  hand;  but  she  drew  it  away  with 
a  start. 

"  No,  no  —  not  that !  " 

Then  she  looked  at  him,  and  saw  the  trace  of 
pain  on  his  face,  and  impulsively  stretched  out  her 
hand  again. 

"  Oh,  be  friends !  "  she  said  —  "  be  friends  to- 
day! Look!  You  have  always  made  things  easy 
for  me.  It  is  a  shame  to  ask  it  of  you,  but  will 
you  leave  me  to  my  own  thoughts  —  to  find  my 
own  way?  When  you  see  me  again  —  if  you  will, 
you  may  ask.  It  won't  be  for  a  long  time;  and 
you  won't  be  bound  to  anything.  Only  —  to-day  I 
am  bothered  and  unhappy;  don't  ask  me  anything 
to-day!" 

He  kept  her  hand  for  a  moment.  "  It  might  be 
worse,"  he  said.  Then  he  put  his  lips  quietly  to 
the  slender  white  fingers,  and  released  them.  "  It 


252  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

shall  be  that  way,  then,"  he  went  on.  "  Only  you 
will  promise  to  give  me  my  chance  to  speak  before 
—  you  decide?  " 

She  nodded.     "  I  promise,"  she  said,  very  low. 

"  Very  well,  then.  We  are  friends  —  till  further 
orders."  He  laughed  as  he  spoke,  but  with  a  touch 
of  constraint. 

"  I  will  tell  you  one  thing,"  she  said,  looking  at 
him  with  kind  eyes.  "  You  are  a  very  nice  friend. 
No !  "  —  for  he  was  beginning  to  speak  —  "  Don't 
say  any  more.  Come  along!  "  and  she  jumped  on 
to  her  feet.  "  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Irwin  win." 

But,  before  she  went,  she  stooped  and  plucked  a 
handful  of  the  purple  thyme  and  pressed  her  face 
into  the  keen-scented  blossom.  Then  she  offered  it 
to  Frank. 

"  Will  you  have  it  —  because  you  have  been  so 
good  to  me?" 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THE  December  afternoon  was  closing  in,  and  the 
wet  bog  squelched  under  Frank  Norman's  shooting- 
boots,  while  the  red  setter  padded  wearily  at  his 
heels.  It  was  too  dark  to  try  the  reeds  and  the 
rushes  by  Drummond  Lough  for  snipe  or  duck ;  but, 
as  Frank  reached  the  curve  of  road  through  the  bog, 
he  turned  his  back  on  Ballinderry.  He  was  going 
to  Margaret's  cottage  for  a  cup  of  tea  —  that  was 
how  he  put  it  to  himself;  but  it  was  not  tea  he 
wanted  so  much  as  to  hear  talk  of  Millicent  Carteret. 
Besides,  he  had  an  errand. 

Margaret's  window  shone  bright  as  he  approached 
it,  and  Toby  and  Fly  made  noisy  demonstrations. 
And  Margaret,  who  in  the  winter  months  missed 
the  coming  and  going  of  anglers,  was  not  backward 
in  welcome. 

"  Och,  och,  Master  Frank!  and  is  that  yourself? 
And  how's  all  with  you?  Draw  in  the  chair,  now, 
please.  Will  you  have  the  tea  that's  in  the  pot,  or 
will  I  wet  some  more  thing?  And  here's  the  soda 
bread  you  like.  Wasn't  it  the  great  good  chance 
253 


254  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

that  I'm  just  after  baking.  Hughie's  milking,  and 
John's  just  bringing  in  a  load  of  sods.  They'll  be 
done  in  a  minute ;  and  quare  and  pleased  they'll  be 
to  see  you,  Mr.  Frank." 

At  all  events,  when  the  circle  were  gathered  round 
the  fire,  if  any  one  was  not  pleased  there  was  little 
sign  of  it,  and  Frank  heard  with  delight  the  kindly 
voices.  The  young  men  talked  shooting  —  the 
year's  plenty  of  duck,  the  scarcity  of  snipe;  they 
went  back  on  the  angling  chronicle  of  the  late 
months,  after  Frank  had  departed. 

"  It  would  be  about  the  second  week  of  Septem- 
ber the  last  time  you  were  here,"  said  Hughie; 
"  the  day  you  killed  the  red  fish  in  the  Major's 
Bay?" 

"  And  a  good  fish  he  was,  Hughie,  when  he  came 
on  to  the  table,  though  you  wouldn't  have  thought 
it  to  look  at  him." 

"  No,  troth !  "  said  John.  "  I  mind  Margaret 
wanting  you  to  send  him  on  to  London  to  Miss 
Carteret,  and  you  saying  he  wasn't  fit  to  send  any 
place." 

"  It  wouldn't  have  been  any  use,  anyway,  John, 
Miss  Carteret  went  away  to  Italy  as  soon  as  ever 
she  left  here." 

"  I  know  that  well,  Mr.  Frank,"  Margaret  struck 
in  from  where  she  sat,  with  hands  resting  in  her 
broad  lap.  "  She  wrote  to  me  to  tell  where  she  was 
gone;  'deed,  and  I'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  you  the  half 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  255 

of  the  things  she  said.  She  was  always  too  good, 
and  that's  the  truth." 

"Where's  the  picture  she  sent,  Margaret?"  said 
John ;  "  maybe  Mr.  Norman  would  like  to  see  it." 

Margaret  looked  at  him  with  contempt.  "  Och, 
hold  your  tongue,  John.  What  would  I  be  showing 
it  to  Mr.  Norman  for  ?  " 

"Why  not?  What's  the  picture,  Margaret?" 
Frank  asked. 

"  Tis  just  the  photograph  of  herself  in  some  kind 
of  a  dress  the  people  wear  out  there.  But  sure 
you'll  have  got  it  yourself." 

In  spite  of  himself,  Frank  laughed.  "  Not  I, 
Margaret.  But  I'd  like  well  to  see  it." 

Margaret's  eyes  were  full  of  incredulity.  "  It's 
maybe  putting  a  trick  on  me  you  are,  Mr.  Frank. 
But  come  in  here  anyway." 

She  led  the  way  with  a  candle  into  what  used  to 
be  Millicent's  sitting-room,  and  there,  in  a  place  of 
honour  on  the  mantelpiece,  was  the  photograph 
framed,  showing  Millicent  as  a  contadina.  It  was 
the  only  portrait  of  her  that  Frank  had  seen. 

Photography  did  not  do  Millicent  justice.  The 
vitality,  the  play  of  the  face,  were  essential  to  its 
charm,  and  these  perished  as  inevitably  as  the  warm 
daring  colour.  It  was  a  thin  superficial  presentment 
at  best,  but  Frank  acutely  desired  it. 

"  Do  you  think  it's  like?  "  he  asked  Margaret  as 
he  scrutinized. 


256  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  'Deed  then,  it's  not  half  nice  enough  for  Miss 
Carteret,  and  that's  what  I  was  saying  to  the  boys. 
But  sure  them  things  doesn't  suit  her  the  way  her 
own  did,  Mr.  Frank.  Still,  you'd  know  the  wee 
laughing  way  she  had  with  her  eyes.  '  Margaret,' 
says  she  in  her  letter,  '  here's  one  of  the  girls  out  of 
this  country ;  tell  me,  what  do  you  think  of  the  way 
they  dress  themselves?  '  But  if  you'd  seen  her  here 
one  day,  Mr.  Frank,  that  she  got  an  ould  shawl 
from  me,  and  on  with  it  over  that  short  skirt  she 
had  for  the  bicycle,  and  off  with  her  shoes  and 
stockings,  and  away  out  the  length  of  the  road;  it 
was  then  you'd  have  thought  she  was  bonny.  But, 
dear  oh !  there  was  a  thorn  met  her  and  back  she 
comes  limping,  and  '  Margaret,'  says  she,  '  oh,  I 
doubt  I'll  never  get  to  heaven  barefoot.'  And  I  be 
to  take  the  thorn  out,  and  such  feet  as  she  had, 
Mr.  Frank;  but  there  now,  I  was  never  to  let  on  a 
word  to  any  one  about  it." 

"  Never  mind,  Margaret.  I  won't  give  you 
away,"  he  said. 

"  Sure,  what  signifies  ?  The  last  word  I  said  to 
Miss  Carteret  and  her  going  away  was,  '  Good-bye 
to  you,  miss,  and  I  doubt  you'll  never  come  back 
here  by  your  lones  again.'  " 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  "  and  wasn't  she  very  angry 
with  you  ?  " 

"  Is  it  her  ?  Not  a  one  of  her ;  but  as  pleased  as 
pleased.  Then,"  she  added  confidentially,  "  sure, 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  257 

Mr.  Frank,  many's  the  time  I  said  to  her  that  no 
man  need  ask  to  see  a  nicer  couple  than  the  two  of 
you." 

Frank  laughed.  "  And  what  did  she  say  to  that, 
Margaret  ?  " 

"What  could  she  say?  She  just  laughed  the 
way  you  did  yourself  this  minute;  but  faith  and 
troth,  Master  Frank,  I  wonder  at  you  if  you  let  her 
slip." 

"  Well,  well,  Margaret,"  he  retorted,  "  this  is  your 
affair  now.  Write  and  put  in  a  good  word  for  me. 
You  may  tell  her  I  gave  you  full  power  to  act.  But 
I  must  be  out  of  this  now.  I  have  to  try  to  see  Owen 
Conroy." 

"God  help  us,"  said  Margaret.  "That's  the 
quare  man  to  be  going  to  see.  Sure  he  hardly 
speaks  to  a  creature  now  this  winter  time.  They 
say  he  shuts  himself  up  like  the  bees,  and  when  the 
wee  touch  of  warmth  comes  he'll  be  stirring  again. 
But  he's  the  quare  man  anyway." 

"  Ah,  nonsense,  Margaret,"  said  Frank,  "  you'll 
be  telling  me  next,  Ellen  Dooey,  that  he  lives  with, 
is  a  witch." 

Margaret's  face  grew  black.  "  Well,  now,  Mas- 
ter Frank,  I'd  be  the  last  to  give  you  a  bad  name 
to  any  one.  But,  witch  or  no  witch,  there  were  a 
couple  of  wee  things  of  Miss  Carteret's  that  I  missed 
out  of  the  back  yard  when  I  had  them  for  the  wash- 
ing, and  I  blamed  them  on  her." 


258  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  say  so,"  he  interjected 
anxiously. 

"  'Deed  then,  I  did  not.  I  never  named  a  word 
of  it  to  any  one  but  Miss  Carteret,  and  she  was  that 
angry  with  me  you  wouldn't  believe  it.  But  I'm 
telling  you,  Mr.  Frank,  that  has  the  right  to  know, 
for  if  it's  what  I  think,  it  wasn't  for  good  Ellen 
Dooey  would  take  the  like  of  thon." 

"  I  haven't  any  right  to  know,  Margaret,  and  I 
don't  believe  a  word  of  it ;  and  if  I  was  your  priest 
I'd  give  you  a  good  stiff  penance  for  such  talk.  But 
if  you  said  nothing  to  any  one  else  there's  no  harm 
done.  Will  you  let  me  leave  the  gun  and  things  here 
till  I'm  passing  back?  The  dog's  beat  out." 

The  night  was  settled  down  dark  and  wild  when 
Frank  started  on  his  tramp  from  Margaret's  cheer- 
ful fireside  across  the  two  miles  of  flat  lonely  road 
to  where  Conroy's  cottage  faced  an  ancient  abbey 
and  a  graveyard,  on  the  outskirts  of  Killydonnell. 
It  was  meat  and  wine  to  him  to  be  back  in  a  country 
where  all  places  and  all  people  spoke  to  him  of  Milli- 
cent.  In  the  months  that  lay  between  him  and  the 
summer  he  had  been  in  London ;  had  met  here  and 
there  a  person  who  knew  her  as  an  art  student,  or 
by  meeting  her  in  ball-rooms.  But  here  every  turn 
of  the  road  that  he  and  she  had  passed  together 
called  up  vivid  pictures  to  his  apprehension  —  he 
heard  her  voice,  he  saw  her  bright  hair.  And  now 
he  was  on  her  errand. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  259 

For  he  had  stipulated  that,  if  it  was  to  be  still 
friendship  between  them,  he  must  have  a  friend's 
privilege  to  write,  and  she  had  granted  it  readily. 
He  had  known  of  all  her  movements,  and  with  her 
letters  there  came  a  good  deal  of  herself;  their  com- 
ing had  marked  red-letter  days  in  the  long  months. 
But  the  last  had  been  by  far  the  most  welcome.  He 
had  written  that  Christmas  would  find  him  at  Ballin- 
derry,  and  she  had  answered  that  the  New  Year 
would  bring  her  back  to  London. 

And  in  that  same  letter  she  had  charged  him  to 
bring  her  news  of  Owen  Conroy. 

"  It  is  almost  strange  to  me  how  much  he  is  on 
my  mind,"  she  wrote.  "  I  once  advised  him  about 
something,  and  I  have  often  wondered  if  I  advised 
him  right.  I  wrote  to  him,  but  he  doesn't  answer. 
I  wish  it  was  not  such  a  complicated  world." 

And,  with  the  tone  of  that,  it  seemed  to  Frank 
that  he  had  every  right  to  be  content.  But,  as  he 
drew  nearer  to  the  house,  embarrassment  was  heavy 
on  him.  What  should  he  say?  He  only  vaguely 
understood  the  relations  between  Conroy  and  Milli- 
cent.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  own  strengthening 
hope  gave  him  a  tenderness  for  this  strange  and 
lonely  creature  that  he  could  scarcely  hide,  and  that 
it  would  be  intolerable  to  express. 

He  knocked  at  the  closed  door,  and  heard  feet 
shuffling  on  the  clay  floor.  Ellen  Dooey  opened  it, 
and  started  at  the  sight  of  him.  She  said  no  word, 


260  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

but  stood  staring.  Frank,  remembering  his  last 
sight  of  her  at  the  Well  of  Doon,  was  painfully  con- 
fused. This  was  very  unlike  the  welcome  at  Mar- 
garet's; unlike  the  greeting  with  which  every  Irish 
cottager  bids  the  known  comer  to  step  in.  He  could 
not  bring  himself  to  speak  to  her  as  if  they  had  met 
before,  but  asked,  was  Mr.  Conroy  in? 

"  He  is,"  she  answered,  not  bidding  him  to  enter. 

"  May  I  come  in,  then?    I  want  to  see  him." 

She  threw  the  door  open  ungraciously,  and  let 
him  into  the  kitchen,  while  she  herself  disappeared 
into  the  room  which  opened  off  it.  Thence  in  a 
moment  Conroy  emerged,  tall,  grey,  and  impassive 
as  ever.  Only,  it  seemed  to  Frank,  that  his  face 
was  thinner,  and  his  eyes  more  shining. 

He  greeted  Frank  stiffly,  but  without  the  least 
show  of  constraint,  and,  taking  chairs,  they  sat  down 
by  the  kitchen  fire,  while  the  old  woman  huddled 
herself  silently  in  a  dark  corner. 

Frank  found  himself  apologizing  for  his  intru- 
sion, and,  for  the  first  time,  uneasy  under  Conroy's 
steady  gaze.  He  turned  the  talk  on  to  politics. 

Had  Conroy  been  making  any  more  speeches  ?  he 
asked. 

"  No,"  Conroy  answered.  "  I  thought  the  once 
was  enough.  'Tis  not  my  trade." 

Talk  dropped  again.  Frank  grew  more  and  more 
restless.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  and  the  other 
were  matching  themselves  instinctively  in  a  silent 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  261 

struggle  of  personalities,  nature  against  nature. 
And,  so  long  as  he  avoided  his  real  preoccupation, 
he  must  inevitably  weaken  before  the  man  who  took 
the  part  of  silence.  The  only  course  was  to  speak 
out,  to  force  the  conflict  into  the  open. 

"  I  heard  the  other  day  from  Miss  Carteret,"  he 
said.  "  She  seemed  aggrieved  because  you  hadn't 
answered  a  letter  of  hers." 

Behind  his  chair,  where  the  old  woman  sat  in 
the  darkness  of  her  corner,  there  was  a  movement. 
Frank  could  feel  on  his  skin  the  shudder  of  dislike 
which  stirred  at  the  naming  of  Millicent's  name. 

Conroy's  face  twitched  a  little,  but  he  answered  in 
the  same  civil  tone. 

"  Miss  Carteret  must  excuse  me.  I'm  no  great 
hand  at  the  writing.  Maybe  you'll  tell  her  so  ?  " 

Again  the  talk  stopped.  The  hostile  presence  of 
old  Ellen  got  unbearable  to  Frank.  He  wondered 
how  to  get  away  from  her,  and  suddenly  bethought 
himself  that  he  had  never  spoken  to  Conroy  of  the 
disaster  at  the  well.  He  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  must  be  going.  Do  you  mind  coming  into  the 
other  room  for  a  minute?  There's  a  thing  I  want 
to  explain  to  you." 

A  strange  flash  crossed  Conroy's  face,  as  if  he 
had  suddenly  heard  something  that  he  dreaded  to 
hear,  with  so  great  a  dread  that  the  actual  hearing 
was  a  respite.  He  turned  his  eyes  from  Frank  and 
fixed  them  on  the  fire.  Then  another  look  grew 


262  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

up  —  a  look  in  which  triumph  mingled  with  the 
hate. 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  in  his  slow  voice.  "  There's 
something  in  there  I  want  to  show  you,  anyway." 

He  opened  the  door  into  the  room,  which  was 
neat,  decently  white-washed,  and  with  a  boarded 
floor.  A  bed  was  in  one  corner,  but  the  main  piece 
of  furniture  was  a  strong  deal  table  covered  with 
drawing-paper.  On  this  was  a  lamp,  and  the  light 
of  the  lamp  fell  on  a  picture,  framed  and  set  up  in 
such  a  way  that  the  sitter  at  the  table  must  rest  his 
eyes  full  on  it. 

Frank  saw  it  as  he  entered,  and  stopped  as  if 
struck  by  a  shot.  Then  he  walked  across  without  a 
word,  and  looked  closely  into  it. 

The  picture  showed  a  flame,  long  and  oval,  like 
the  flame  of  a  candle,  and  faint  as  fire  seen  by  day- 
light; but  at  the  heart  of  it  a  figure  shaped  itself, 
nebulous  and  vague  in  its  drapery,  palpitating  with 
the  orange  tints  of  flame.  And,  through  the  fiery 
mists,  its  face  was  seen  shining,  luminous  and  grey, 
like  peat  ashes  in  which  the  fire  sleeps.  A  face 
yearning  with  all  the  intensity  of  desire,  as  if 
drained  of  its  blood  by  sheer  passion.  It  was  the 
face,  not  of  a  girl,  but  of  a  woman,  from  which  all 
the  veils  have  been  stripped  or  burnt  away,  till,  in 
the  elemental  flame  of  her  womanhood,  ardour  and 
tenderness,  love  and  maternity,  blend  themselves  in 
transfigured  eyes. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  263 

And  the  face  was  the  face  of  Millicent. 

Frank  gazed  at  it,  rebuked  and  abashed.  Were 
these  the  eyes  of  his  playfellow?  the  eyes  where  he 
had  seen  light  laughter,  and  tears  not  painful  ?  Was 
this  the  face  that  he  had  loved  and  longed  for?  the 
face  he  had  known  —  but  not  divined  ?  What  was 
he  in  the  presence  of  that  face,  and  of  the  man  who 
had  divined  it? 

Automatically  he  stammered  out  a  question. 
"What  is  this?" 

Conroy  was  watching  him  with  an  unsuppressed 
exultation,  made  of  many  emotions  —  the  rival  not 
crushing  out  of  sight  the  artist. 

"  'Tis  just  one  of  the  things  I  see  in  the  vision," 
he  answered.  "  I  would  say,  myself,  it  was  a  spirit 
of  the  fire." 

A  sudden  thought  sprang  up  in  Frank's  mind. 
Imagination,  he  knew,  played  strange  tricks,  and  he 
had  always  entertained  theories  as  to  the  origin  of 
Conroy's  visions.  Was  it  possible  that  the  impres- 
sion left  on  his  mind  by  the  girl  had,  unknown  to 
him,  externalized  itself;  that  he  had  painted  not 
knowing  what  he  painted?  He  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  then  he  took  the  plunge. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Do  you  remember  you  traded  off 
one  of  your  pictures  with  me  for  a  couple  of  books  ? 
Do  you  want  books  ?  Because  I  want  that  drawing 
badly." 

He  turned  as  he  spoke,  and,  to  his  amazement,  he 


264  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

saw  a  dull  red  flush  spread  over  the  grey  face,  and  a 
flame  like  the  flame  of  madness  light  up  in  Conroy's 
eyes.  For  a  moment  he  thought  the  man  would 
strike  him.  But  as  he  looked,  the  flush  subsided, 
and  the  flame  changed  to  a  cold  glitter,  and  Conroy 
spoke  with  undisguised  contempt. 

"  I  need  no  books,  and  'tis  not  you  would  under- 
stand or  know  the  thing  you  see  there.  But  I  know 
—  and  I  know  your  errand.  And  you  may  go  to 
her  that  sent  you,  and  say  to  her  what  you  saw,  and 
she  will  understand.  And  you  may  tell  her  that  the 
word  I  said  holds  true,  and  the  day  is  not  far  off 
when  it  will  be  made  good.  Let  her  marry  you  if 
she  will;  but  this  is  mine,  and  she  will  know  the 
power  of  it.  You  have  all  the  world  on  your  part; 
but  all  the  world  cannot  give  you  what  is  mine.  It 
cannot  take  the  soul  from  the  body  in  life,  nor  the 
body  from  the  soul." 

Frank  listened  with  wonder  and  mounting  indig- 
nation, heightened  by  a  sense  that  he  had  put  himself 
in  the  wrong. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said.  "  I  had  no  wish 
to  offend  you.  You  expressly  said  that  this  was  a 
drawing  like  any  of  the  others.  If  I  had  known 
that  you  attached  a  special  value  to  it,  I  should  have 
said  nothing.  But,  in  any  case,  it  was  a  liberty.  I 
beg  your  pardon." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  as  he  spoke  and  went  out 
into  the  night. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  265 

But  Owen  Conroy  left  alone  in  the  room  flung 
himself  on  the  chair,  and  resting  his  head  on  his 
elbows,  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  picture  with  a  terrible 
intensity  as  if  all  the  forces  of  his  soul  and  body 
were  concentrated  in  that  gaze. 

"  There  is  life,"  he  muttered  after  a  while.  "  The 
breast  stirs.  She  is  coming  nearer.  She  will  come 
soon." 


CHAPTER    XXII 

A  FORTNIGHT  later,  it  was  the  second  day  of  the 
new  year,  and  Frank  was  on  his  way  from  his  cham- 
bers in  the  Temple  to  see  the  returned  Millicent.  He 
had  not  trusted  himself  to  write  more  than  a  note 
asking  for  leave  to  call,  and  her  answer  had  been 
only,  "  If  you  come  at  four  you  will  find  me." 

From  that  many  things  could  be  argued;  and  he 
argued  them  all.  But  his  reasonings  were  heavily 
overshadowed  by  a  scruple  of  conscience. 

The  nearest  thing  in  Frank  Norman  to  intellec- 
tual distinction  was  a  great  reverence  for  that  dis- 
tinction when  he  recognized  it  in  others.  And  the 
impression  of  what  he  had  seen  on  his  visit  to  Con- 
roy  was  strong  on  him. 

It  was  true,  he  reflected,  that  Conroy  had  behaved 
savagely,  almost  indecently.  But  passion  has  little 
regard  for  the  decencies,  and  he,  by  a  request  which 
ought  never  to  have  been  made,  had  provoked  the 
explosion.  Indeed  he  could  not  wonder  at  it.  All 
the  world  was  on  his  side,  Conroy  had  said;  and  it 
was  true.  Here  was  he,  free  to  meet  Millicent  in 
266 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  267 

her  own  home,  on  her  own  ground,  in  her  own  at- 
mosphere; qualified  at  every  point  where  the  other 
was  disqualified.  And  yet,  as  between  man  and 
man,  the  odds  stood  far  otherwise.  All  his  own  ad- 
vantages were  accidental;  he  was  on  the  spot  and 
had  a  right  to  be. 

But  away  in  a  Donegal  cabin  was  that  other,  the 
peasant,  with  the  picture  that  his  brain  had  shaped, 
his  hand  had  made.  Frank  had  thought  he  knew 
Millicent,  and  understood  her  as  no  one  else  could; 
it  is  the  natural  illusion.  But  the  illusion  fell  to 
pieces  when  he  saw,  presented  to  his  eyes,  something 
that  disclosed  in  her  powers  and  possibilities  that  he 
had  never  guessed  at;  things  not  revealed  to  him; 
an  interpretation  that  set  the  interpreter  on  a  very 
different  level  from  his  own.  He  had  remembered 
many  times  in  that  fortnight  —  and  how  bitterly !  — 
how  he  had  in  a  sense  inclined  to  show  off  this  man 
to  Millicent  almost  as  a  client;  how  he  had  insisted 
on  his  social  inferiority;  how  he  had  recalled  to  her 
mind  the  barriers.  Barriers :  they  existed  certainly. 
That  was  the  injustice;  but  he  asked  himself  with 
what  face  he  could  take  advantage  of  them.  He 
could  not  conceive  that  a  woman  should  be  indiffer- 
ent to  such  a  proof  of  power  and  insight  as  that  pic- 
ture had  given ;  but  of  this  proof  Millicent  knew  and 
could  know  nothing. 

Conroy's  fierce  words  were  vivid  in  his  mind, 
though  ill-comprehended.  He  knew  them  for  a 


268  THE   OLD    KNOWLEDGE 

challenge,  not  so  much  to  himself  —  indeed  he  felt 
with  bitterness  that  the  man  had  seemed  to  set  him 
out  of  account  —  as  a  challenge  to  the  girl.  If  it  was 
a  conflict,  he  determined  that  he  would  do  the  one 
thing  by  which  he  could  assert  his  personality.  He 
would  do  his  best  to  redress  the  inequality;  at  least 
he  would  not  snatch  an  advantage. 

His  hansom  stopped  at  the  door  in  the  solemn 
square,  and  he  asked  for  Miss  Carteret.  There  was 
little  trace  of  Millicent  in  her  mother's  dwelling. 
But  the  servant  led  him  through  the  house  to  a  re- 
gion in  the  back,  which,  as  he  rightly  guessed,  was 
the  daughter's  own  studio  and  sanctum.  The  door 
opened  on  a  large  rather  bare  room ;  and  there  from 
a  big  armchair  by  the  bright  fire  Millicent  rose  to 
greet  him. 

It  was  something  of  a  revelation,  this  new  aspect 
of  her  in  pretty  fluttery  picturesque  garments  that 
followed  the  undulation  of  her  figure ;  and  something 
too  was  changed  in  her  face.  Was  it  the  light,  he 
wondered,  or  had  the  curves  of  her  cheeks  grown 
more  subtle,  the  contours  about  her  mouth  a  shade 
more  sharply  chiselled  ?  At  all  events  there  she  was, 
and  where  she  was  it  was  good  to  be,  as  before :  as 
before,  his  whole  being  was  at  once  soothed  and  ex- 
hilarated ;  it  was  sunshine  and  sun-warmth  that  stole 
through  his  veins.  The  touch  of  her  hand  was  softer 
and  more  thrilling,  and  her  eyes  kept  their  old  mys- 
tery and  fascination.  And  as  before,  talk  was  the 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  269 

easiest  thing  in  the  world,  and  every  light  word 
seemed  charged  with  interest. 

"  Well,  and  you  liked  Italy?  " 

"  It  was  lovely.  But  tell  me  about  Donegal. 
How  is  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Margaret  sent  all  sorts  of  messages.  She 
wanted  to  send  an  offering  of  eggs,  or  something; 
but  I  stopped  her." 

"  How  unkind  of  you,"  she  laughed. 

"  If  I  had,"  he  pleaded  in  self-justification,  "  my 
cousins  would  have  filled  a  hamper  for  you  as  well. 
They  sent  their  love,  too.  And  the  colonel  desired 
me  specially  to  say  that  he  didn't  see  why  Margaret 
should  have  your  picture  and  not  he." 

"  Isn't  it  sweet  of  them  ?  I  do  hope  they  won't 
forget  me."  Then  she  stopped  for  a  moment,  and 
her  eyes  fell.  "  And  Mr.  Conroy  ?  " 

The  moment  had  come,  and  it  was  hard. 

"  I  saw  him,"  he  answered. 

"  Well  ? "  asked  Millicent,  with  her  eyes  still 
averted. 

It  seemed  to  Frank  impossible  that  he  should 
speak  what  he  had  to  say  from  that  long  distance. 
There  was  the  length  of  a  hearthrug  between  them> 
and  he  felt  as  if  he  were  talking  to  her  across  the 
world.  And  yet  to  take  her  hand  was  further  than 
he  could  trust  himself  if  his  purpose  were  to  last. 

"  Look,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  voice  curiously 
strained.  "  You  know  what  I  came  here  to  say." 


270  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

She  was  silent,  and  her  face  was  still  turned  from 
him.  He  went  on.  "  There  is  something  else  I 
want  to  say  first." 

She  looked  round  at  him  with  a  start  of  surprise, 
almost,  he  thought,  of  apprehension. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said.  "  Why  are  you  so 
strange?  You  frighten  me.  Has  anything  hap- 
pened?" 

"  No,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  It's  just  this. 
I'm  here.  And  he  can't  be  here.  And  you  don't 
know." 

A  curious  tenderness  of  laughter  came  into  her 
eyes. 

"  You  strange  person.    What  don't  I  know  ?  " 

"Listen!"  he  said.  And  he  told  her  in  brief 
words  of  his  visit  to  Conroy's  cottage,  and  Ellen's 
reception  of  him. 

"  Oh,  that  old  woman ! "  said  Millicent,  with  an 
involuntary  shiver. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  She  was  on  my  nerves 
like  a  nightmare.  So  I  made  an  excuse  to  go  into 
Conroy's  own  room." 

Then  he  tried  to  describe  to  her  what  he  had  seen. 
Embarrassed  and  halting  in  speech,  he  kept  his  eyes 
away  from  her,  speaking  in  jerks.  But  Millicent 
watched  him,  and  on  her  face  was  a  chase  of 
emotions,  and  the  laughter  about  her  eyes  was 
close  to  tears.  It  was  not  of  Conroy  she  thought 
now. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  271 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said  finally.  "  I  can't  tell  you. 
It's  just  this.  I  felt  pretty  small  looking  at  it.  I 
realized  that  you  were  away  up  there  somewhere  — 
somewhere  I  had  never  guessed  at  —  and  he  had 
followed  you  and  found  you  there.  God !  "  he  went 
on  — "  there  was  a  phrase  kept  coming  into  my 
mind  when  I  thought  it  over  —  that  sickening 
phrase  about  gentlemen  and  common  men.  I  felt  a 
common  man  enough,  I  can  tell  you." 

His  lips  were  wrung  with  emotion,  and  the  words 
came  bitterly  from  them.  He  broke  off  with  some- 
thing between  a  laugh  and  a  groan.  But  her  face 
was  full  of  a  great  tenderness. 

"  We  are  both  of  us  very  common  people  —  you 
and  I,"  she  said  softly,  "  compared  with  Owen  Con- 
roy." 

His  heart  leapt  suddenly  within  him,  and  he 
looked  at  her  with  a  flash  of  gratitude.  There  was 
welcome  and  every  kindness  in  her  eyes.  But  he 
checked  himself.  All  was  not  said  yet. 

"  Conroy  knows  better  than  you.  He  sees  what  I 
never  had  the  wit  to  see." 

Then  he  looked  at  her  face.  The  very  boyish- 
ness of  his  impulsive  generosity,  and  of  his  humil- 
iation, filled  her  with  a  great  tenderness.  Younger 
in  years,  she  was  in  that  moment  immeasurably 
older;  she  was  the  woman,  and  he  the  youth. 
And  the  fulness  of  her  power  shone  on  him  as  he 
gazed. 


272  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  I  can  see  it  now,"  he  said  very  simply.  "  Is  it 
not  strange  that  another  man  should  teach  me  to 
read  your  face?" 

The  trouble  in  his  eyes  wrought  upon  her,  and 
the  woman's  impulse  to  comfort  swept  away  the  in- 
stincts of  the  girl. 

"Do  you  mind  so  much?"  she  said  softly;  and 
she  held  out  her  hands  calling  him  to  her. 

But  he  made  a  gesture  as  if  to  push  her  away. 
"  No,  I  must  finish  telling  you.  I  am  ashamed  to 
tell  you  of  my  blundering.  I  asked  him  for  the  pic- 
ture." 

The  tenderness  in  her  eyes  suffused  itself  with 
laughter,  but  wise  laughter,  as  if  she  laughed  with 
all  the  kindly  wisdom  of  ages  at  the  ways  of  youth ; 
and  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh,  foolish,  foolish !  Well  ?  What  did  he  say  ? 
He  was  angry  ?  " 

"  He  was ;  and  he  said  what  made  me  angry.  But 
when  I  came  to  think  it  over,  I  wondered  if  I  had 
the  right  to  be.  I  want  to  tell  you  what  he  said,  for 
it  is  on  my  mind." 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  softly. 

"  He  said  that  I  could  never  understand  what  the 
picture  meant,  but  that  you  would  understand." 

Her  face  clouded  a  little.  The  pleading  eyes  be- 
fore her  were  for  a  moment  forgotten ;  another  voice 
began  to  echo  in  her  ears  —  the  voice  of  a  man 
whose  passion  had  such  power  that  it  could  send 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  273 

this  other  man  here,  not  to  speak  for  himself,  but  to 
tell  her  of  what  he  had  seen. 

Frank  watched  her  closely,  and  the  lines  of  pain 
began  to  accentuate  themselves;  his  voice  began  to 
harden. 

"  He  said  more  than  that ;  he  said  words  that  are 
not  clear  to  me.  This  is  what  he  said.  '  You  may 
go  to  her  and  tell  her  that  the  word  I  said  holds 
good,  and  that  this  that  you  have  seen  is  here  to 
make  it  good.'  " 

A  new  thought  flashed  across  Millicent's  mind. 
She  remembered  well  —  only  too  well  —  the  impe- 
rious word  that  he  had  spoken.  But  she  remembered 
also  now,  in  a  moment,  many  other  things  that 
shaped  themselves  into  a  conjecture.  Anger  began 
to  rise  in  her.  Frank  had  paused  awkwardly. 

"  Go  on,"  she  said.  "  Tell  me  all  of  it.  I  have  a 
right  to  hear." 

Frank  still  hesitated.  "  Look  here.  You  must 
not  think  I  said  anything  that  could  mislead  him,  or 
give  him  the  right  to  assume  what  he  did.  What  he 
said  was  this,  or  like  this,  '  Let  her  marry  you  if  she 
wish ;  but  this  is  mine,  mine  and  hers  together.  You 
have  all  the  world  for  you ;  but  all  the  world  cannot 
keep  the  body  from  the  soul,  nor  the  soul  from  the 
body.' " 

As  he  spoke  he  knew  that  her  eyes  were  far  away, 
that  her  thoughts  were  not  of  him.  He  could  not 
read  her  face ;  only  it  seemed  more  and  more  certain 


274  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

that  she  was  slipping  away  from  him.  And,  in- 
deed, there  was  a  conflict  within  her  to  which  he  was 
a  stranger.  Her  nature  rose  in  revolt  against  the 
claim  that  Conroy's  words  asserted ;  she  told  herself 
that  there  was  no  truth  in  it,  she  knew  that,  by  a 
means  which  she  not  dimly  guessed  at,  he  was  try- 
ing to  bend  her  to  his  will.  She  was  too  angry  to 
laugh ;  she  resented  it  almost  as  a  physical  indignity. 
Impotent  and  pitiable  as  his  folly  was,  it  had  dashed 
her  hour  of  happiness. 

Frank's  voice  broke  in  on  her.  He  had  watched 
her  in  silence  with  growing  trouble. 

"  I  have  told  you  what  I  had  to  say.  I  do  not 
understand  what  he  meant.  But  I  thought  you 
should  hear." 

Her  thoughts  were  still  of  regret  for  the  shattered 
moment  —  the  meeting  long  looked  forward  to. 

"  I  wish  you  had  not  told  me.  Why  did  I  ask  you 
to  go  to  him  ?  "  Her  voice  was  still  dreamy  and  far 
away,  and  all  the  bitterness  in  Frank's  heart  broke 
bounds. 

"  Can't  you  see  ?  How  could  I  not  tell  you  ?  I 
have  asked  you  nothing.  But  will  you  never  under- 
stand? Can  you  not  see  what  I  want  to  know  — 
what  I  must  know  ?  " 

His  sudden  outburst  broke  in  on  her  with  a  shock 
of  surprise.  She  forgot  all  else  as  she  turned  and 
looked  at  him,  and  saw  the  trouble  and  anger  in  his 
face. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  275 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh !  "  she  cried  in  self-reproach,  and  the 
note  of  her  voice  was  sweeter  than  all  music.  "  I 
am  never  kind  to  you." 

In  an  instant  he  was  by  her  side,  holding  her 
hands. 

"  My  answer,"  he  said.  "  Give  me  my  answer. 
I  have  waited  long." 

Her  eyes  met  his,  full,  unfearing,  unflinching,  and 
for  a  moment  they  looked  at  each  other.  But  some- 
thing in  her  held  her  back  —  an  instinct  telling  her 
that  a  challenge  had  been  thrown  down,  and  she 
must  meet  it.  And  the  pain  was  gone  from  his  face, 
and  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  have  waited,"  she  said.  "  And  you  may 
have  your  answer  now,  if  you  like.  But  you  have 
told  me  things  that  have  surprised  me  and  hurt  me. 
And  I  would  like  to  clear  up  everything  before  —  I 
give  you  your  answer.  I  would  rather  give  it 
you  in  Donegal." 

"  Donegal !  "  he  repeated,  in  a  kind  of  bewilder- 
ment. "  But  this  is  the  winter.  Am  I  to  wait  six 
months  more?  " 

Her  eyes  filled  with  laughter  again  as  she  looked 
at  him. 

"  Are  there  no  trains  in  the  winter,  then  ?  I 
thought  of  going  —  perhaps  next  month." 

"  Why  not  next  week  ?  "  he  said. 

But  she  only  laughed  at  him.  The  reaction  was 
strong  upon  her ;  she  was  a  girl  again. 


276  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  Promise,"  he  urged. 

"No  —  I  promise  nothing.  There,  you  needn't 
hold  my  hands." 

His  face  was  a  little  overcast,  and  she  saw  it. 

"  Ah,  don't  get  angry  again.  You  mustn't.  We 
aren't  going  to  be  serious  to-day.  Come  and  be  in- 
troduced to  my  mother." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ONCE  more  Millicent  was  on  her  bicycle,  traversing 
the  familiar  road  along  the  river,  and  her  wheels 
sped  swiftly  over  the  frost-hardened  surface.  She 
had  left  Donegal  with  a  standing  invitation  to  re- 
turn to  Ballinderry  when  and  how  she  pleased ;  but 
her  letter  asking  for  leave  to  come  had  made  a  great 
flutter  in  the  establishment.  There  was  no  mention 
of  Frank  in  it,  but  the  little  ladies  were  wonderfully 
quick  at  putting  two  and  two  —  or  one  and  one  — 
together;  and  the  colonel  openly  derided  them,  and 
said  it  was  early  days  to  be  talking  of  wedding  pres- 
ents. And  when  Millicent  came  they  had  kissed  her 
with  effusion,  and  the  colonel  had  wagged  his  head 
and  expressed  a  conjecture  that  he  would  soon  be  en- 
titled to  that  same  privilege ;  and  if  Frank  preferred 
to  travel  two  days  later  instead  of  having  such  good 
company  on  that  long  journey,  he  could  only  say  that 
the  ways  of  young  people  nowadays  were  past  find- 
ing out. 

What  the  colonel  would  have  said  if  he  had  known 
Millicent's  destination  on  this  afternoon,  can  only  be 
277 


278  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

conjectured;  and,  indeed,  Millicent  herself  was  in- 
clined to  think  her  conduct  a  little  extraordinary. 
It  was  a  week  now  since  the  day  when  Frank  had 
come  to  see  her  in  her  studio,  and  day  and  night  she 
had  been  meditating  over  the  sense  of  Conroy's 
words.  She  could  not  be  certain.  But  she  remem- 
bered only  too  distinctly  his  assertion  of  a  power 
over  her  in  the  stormy  moment  when  they  parted; 
she  remembered  how  at  their  very  first  meeting,  talk 
had  turned  on  the  possibility  of  affecting  a  person 
through  the  image,  and  how  Conroy  had  plainly  re- 
fused to  dismiss  the  belief  as  an  idle  fancy ;  and  how, 
again,  when  she  had  questioned  him  whether  his 
strange  gifts  endowed  him  with  power  to  affect  the 
actions  of  other  creatures,  he  had  indignantly  dis- 
claimed not  the  power,  but  the  will  to  do  so.  And, 
in  any  case,  she  knew  less  by  inference  than  by  intu- 
ition, that  his  words  to  Frank  Norman  had  been 
spoken  in  passion  as  a  threat  that  would  reach  to  her. 
Millicent  did  not  like  to  be  threatened,  least  of  all 
when  the  threat  roused  in  her  heart  a  suspicion  of 
fear. 

It  was  not  that  she  feared  the  spell,  if  spell  there 
was.  On  the  contrary,  supposing  herself  right  — 
and  she  knew  herself  right  —  it  was  a  confession  of 
weakness,  a  resort  to  power  not  native  to  the  man's 
own  personality.  And  it  was  only  his  personality 
that  she  felt  bound  —  if  not  to  fear,  at  least  to  con- 
vince herself  that  she  did  not  fear. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  279 

For,  in  the  months  that  had  gone  by,  while  she 
was  regaining  the  equipoise  of  her  nature,  she  had 
come  to  recognize  how  strong  a  ferment  had  been 
thrown  into  it  by  her  association  with  this  man.  He 
had  coloured  her  life;  she  had  learnt  to  see  things, 
in  a  measure,  with  his  eyes ;  he  had  called  out  pow- 
ers in  her  that  hastened  in  a  few  days  her  growth 
from  girl  into  woman.  And  she  knew  moreover 
how,  if  he  had  chosen  then  to  make  his  appeal  mere- 
ly to  her  compassion,  to  her  desire  to  help,  to  her 
unwillingness  to  wound,  that  she  could  have  refused 
him  no  help  that  he  might  claim.  But  he  had  been 
too  clear-sighted  not  to  see,  and  he  had  rejected  com- 
passion ;  coming  to  her  fresh  from  a  triumphant  ex- 
hibition of  his  power,  he  had  thought  to  sweep  her 
victoriously  out  of  her  own  control,  to  absorb  her 
life  in  his. 

And  now,  it  seemed,  in  his  infatuation,  in  his  mad 
desire  not  merely  to  touch  her  heart  and  her  imagi- 
nation, but  to  subject  her  will,  he  had  overstepped, 
perhaps,  the  bounds  that  divided  sanity  from  mad- 
ness, and  certainly  the  limit  between  fair  dealing 
and  unfair,  as  he  himself  conceived  them.  He  was 
obstinate  to  assert  over  her  a  supremacy,  and  her 
spirit  was  as  proud  as  his.  She  was  going  to  face 
him,  and  outface  him;  to  shatter  an  illusion  that 
seemed  an  insult  to  her  freedom;  to  know  herself 
and  prove  herself  free.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he 
had  presumed  strangely  upon  her  compassion, 


280  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

and,  for  the  moment,  there  was  no  compassion  in 
her  heart. 

A  visit  to  Margaret  had  been  the  ready  pretext 
for  an  excursion  along  the  Killydonnell  road.  And 
now  that  Millicent  was  nearing  the  end  of  Marga- 
ret's lane,  she  was  touched  with  apprehensions,  for 
if  she  were  seen  to  pass  without  entering,  she  knew 
well  that  she  would  be  sadly  fallen  from  grace  in 
Margaret's  eyes.  But  the  thing  in  hand  had  to  be 
got  over,  and  Margaret's  greeting  would  be  a  pleas- 
ant relief  when  it  was  done. 

The  luncheon  hour  at  Ballinderry  might  be  later 
one  day  than  another,  but  never  earlier;  and  light 
was  failing  fast  before  Millicent  reached  Conroy's 
cottage.  She  leant  her  bicycle  against  the  hedge, 
and,  carrying  her  head  high,  stepped  to  the  door  and 
knocked.  An  unreasonable  tremor  seized  her.  She 
feared  the  sight  of  old  Ellen,  and  the  thought  almost 
unnerved  her;  so  that  she  fairly  gasped  for  relief 
when  the  door  opened,  and  she  saw  the  figure  of 
Conroy. 

But  the  relief  was  only  for  a  moment.  Against 
the  darkness  of  the  interior  his  face  showed  dead 
white,  and  there  was  a  wild  gleam  of  triumph  in  his 
eye.  For  an  instant  Millicent  was  afraid;  it  was 
like  the  face  of  a  madman. 

"  I  was  looking  for  you  to  come,"  he  said.  "  I 
knew  your  knock."  There  was  a  feverish  exultation 
in  his  voice. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  281 

"  How  did  you  hear  I  was  in  the  country  ?  "  asked 
Millicent. 

But  he  only  laughed  with  the  same  wild  note  of 
triumph. 

"  I  am  always  looking  for  you.  It  has  been  long. 
Come  in." 

Millicent  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  she  stepped 
across  the  threshold.  The  clay-floored  kitchen  was 
only  lit  by  a  peat  fire,  and  as  the  girl  entered,  a  dark 
crouching  figure  shuffled  out  of  a  corner,  and  hud- 
dled stealthily  up  the  short  stair,  vanishing  into 
blackness.  Millicent  felt  a  wave  of  aversion  sweep 
over  her  as  the  old  woman  passed.  The  atmosphere 
seemed  all  dark,  uncanny,  superstitious. 

Conroy  drew  a  chair  for  her  to  the  fire.  He 
seated  himself  opposite  her,  and  stirred  the  sods  till 
the  blaze  lit  up  their  faces.  He  looked  at  Millicent 
with  an  unnatural  lustre  in  his  eyes;  they  were 
bloodshot  and  feverish,  she  noticed,  no  longer  clear 
and  cool;  and  her  anger  was  mingled  with  repug- 
nance. She  met  his  glance,  and  the  wild  gaze  rested 
on  hers  for  a  moment,  then  strayed  back,  as  if  auto- 
matically, to  the  fire.  Instantly  all  trace  of  fear 
vanished  from  her.  She  knew  or  divined  that  he 
was  flying  from  the  truth  to  his  delusion. 

But  a  low  sob  of  laughter  shook  him.  "  So  you 
have  come!  "  he  said,  still  looking  at  the  flames. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  simply ;  "  I  have  come." 

"Is  it  not  strange?  "  he  said,  and  his  voice  was 


282  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

filled  with  the  same  low,  jubilant  laughter.  "  I 
never  doubted  of  this  hour !  I  saw  you  come  —  so 
many  times.  I  knew  by  your  eyes,  when  they  looked 
at  me  from  the  fire,  that  you  were  coming.  Day  by 
day  they  drew  nearer.  And,  now  you  are  come,  I 
am  feared  to  look  at  you." 

"  That  is  not  strange,"  she  answered,  with  a  chill- 
ing inflection. 

It  was  as  if  she  had  struck  him  with  a  whip.  He 
turned  suddenly  and  faced  her  as  she  sat  there  erect 
and  angry.  As  he  looked  at  her  she  saw  an  expres- 
sion of  bewilderment  —  despairing  bewilderment  — 
steal  into  his  eyes.  He  was  like  one  who,  waking 
from  a  dream,  should  suddenly  doubt  of  his  exist- 
ence. 

"  But  you  have  come !  "  he  repeated.  "  You  are 
here!" 

He  clung  now  to  the  tangible  —  to  the  testimony, 
not  of  the  spiritual  vision,  but  of  his  bodily  senses. 
It  was  a  cry  of  anguish ;  but  she  hardened  her  heart 
against  it. 

"  Ask  yourself  why  I  am  here?  "  she  retorted. 

A  gleam  of  comprehension  shot  into  his  eyes,  and 
he  flushed  a  dull  red. 

"  You  have  understood  ?  "  he  questioned,  and  the 
sign  of  shame  was  perceptible  on  his  forehead. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  I  understood  —  all." 

There  was  an  ominous  significance  in  her  tone, 
and  he  could  no  longer  avoid  the  doubt.  Yet  she 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  283 

could  see  his  will  concentrate  itself,  as  if  to  push 
away  from  him  the  truth  too  evident  to  his  eyes,  and 
already  she  knew  herself  the  victor.  Resentment 
was  gone  from  that  instant ;  but  she  had  a  work  to 
accomplish,  and  pity  was  not  yet  awake. 

"  It  is  you  who  do  not  understand,"  she  said,  with 
deliberate  emphasis. 

He  raised  his  hand  to  his  eyes  and  covered  them 
as  he  spoke. 

"  You  have  been  long  away.  You  are  newly 
come.  I  cannot  see  yet." 

"  It  is  not  that.  You  have  looked  too  long  at 
fancies.  You  see,  but  you  cannot  believe  what  you 
see." 

Again  he  bent  his  eyes  on  her  fiercely,  with  an 
effort ;  and  more  than  ever  she  felt  her  mastery,  and 
determined  to  assert  it. 

"  Mr.  Conroy,  I  want  to  see  the  picture  that  I 
heard  of." 

Her  eyes  were  imperious  now,  as  well  as  her  tone, 
and  he  rose  and  obeyed.  He  came  back  from  the 
other  room  bringing  it,  with  a  lamp  in  his  hand. 
He  set  the  lamp  on  the  table,  and  she  rose  and  went 
over  to  it,  and  looked  gravely  at  the  picture,  holding 
it  in  her  hands.  Then  she  set  it  down. 

"  It  is  fine,"  she  said  coldly,  "  The  best  drawing 
you  have  done,  by  far.  You  have  learnt  a  great 
deal."  Then  she  came  and  sat  down  again,  facing 
him.  There  was  an  instant's  pause  before  she  spoke 


284  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

again,  with  an  entire  change  of  tone.  She  had 
dropped  her  affectation  of  dispassionate  scrutiny. 
"  Do  you  know  what  I  see  in  it  ?  I  see  yourself  — 
not  me." 

His  answer  leapt  out  passionately.  "  You  see  my 
need  of  you !  All  the  longing  of  all  my  life !  " 

"  And  what  of  my  life?  "  she  retorted. 

He  made  no  answer,  and  she  fixed  reproachful 
eyes  on  him  as  she  went  on. 

"  Look !  I  know  your  belief.  I  will  talk  your 
own  language  to  you.  My  will  was  not  yours,  and 
you  set  snares  to  force  me  to  your  will  ?  Is  that  not 
true  ?  That  thing,  then  —  that  drawing  —  was  not 
simply  honest  work,  was  it  ?  You  thought  it  would 
be  a  spell  to  force  me  to  your  will.  I  could  laugh  at 
the  folly  of  it,  if  I  were  not  too  angry.  Is  that  how 
you  think  to  win  a  woman  ?  " 

He  groaned,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands ;  but  she 
went  on  pitilessly,  her  anger  rising  as  it  found  vent 
in  words. 

"  Was  it  fair  ?  I  ask  you  that.  I  treated  you  as  a 
friend,  and  you  tried  to  make  a  slave  of  me !  That 
ends  all  between  us.  I  am  free,  and  free  I  will  be. 
Body  and  spirit  —  if  they  are  two  or  one  —  I  give 
myself  and  I  withhold  myself,  as  I  choose.  You 
tried  to  make  me  something  not  myself  —  a  chattel 
of  yours,  a  part  of  you !  " 

Under  the  sting  of  her  fierce  words,  he  lifted  up 
his  head  and  glared  at  her. 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  285 

"And  what  will  you  be  with  him  —  with  that 
other?  You  say  you  could  laugh.  I  could  laugh 
myself  to  think  I  gave  in  to  such  foolishness,  but 
there  would  be  little  comfort  in  that  laughter.  I  am 
stronger  than  he.  What  magic  is  there  in  it  that  he 
has  power  over  you  and  I  have  none?  " 

The  despair  in  his  voice  smote  on  Millicent's 
heart,  and  she  answered  in  a  softened  tone. 

"  There  is  no  magic.  My  way  lies  with  his,  that 
is  all  I  know." 

"  And  whose  way  with  mine?  "  he  questioned. 

Once  again  the  strange  note  of  solitariness,  as  if 
of  a  cry  uttered  among  echoing  rocks  that  only  en- 
hance the  loneliness,  touched  her  as  it  had  done  on 
the  first  day  when  he  began  to  speak  freely  in  her 
presence.  Something  of  the  old  pity  began  to  come 
back  to  her,  but  with  a  new  understanding. 

"  Is  it  so  hard  to  be  alone?  "  she  said.  "  Before  I 
knew  you  —  were  you  unhappy  ?  " 

"  I  was  happy,"  he  answered,  "  like  the  cattle  in 
the  fields." 

For  a  moment  her  voice  faltered.  "  I  meant  only 
kindness."  Then  she  paused.  "  No,  it  was  not  that. 
I  meant  nothing.  It  just  happened.  It  had  to  be. 
Somehow  or  other,  pain  had  to  come  into  your  life. 
Only  —  I  wish  it  had  not  been  through  me." 

He  looked  up  at  her,  and,  as  she  looked,  she  saw 
that  the  unnatural  brilliancy  had  gone  out  of  his 
eyes. 


286  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

"  Maybe  you  are  right,"  he  said  abruptly,  and 
turned  away  his  face. 

But  she  would  not  let  him  slip  from  her  influence. 
It  was  her  hour,  and  she  knew  it. 

"  Mr.  Conroy,"  she  said,  almost  pleading,  "  I  was 
angry  when  I  came.  There  is  no  anger  now  between 
us.  We  are  beginning  to  understand,  you  and  I.  I 
want  you  to  look  at  me.  There  is  nothing  in  my 
heart  that  I  would  not  have  you  see." 

He  lifted  his  head,  and  fixed  on  her  the  gaze  that 
she  knew  so  well. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  after  a  moment ;  "  I  see  you  now. 
Your  face  is  as  kind  as  heaven ;  but  it  is  as  far  away. 
My  way  lies  lonely." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said.  "  It  goes  far,  and  it 
rises  high,  I  think.  It  is  not  so  lonely  but  that  you 
can  help  others.  You  are  beginning  to  be  yourself 
again.  I  think  that  all  these  months  you  have  been 
trying  to  be  some  one  different  —  some  one  not  so 
good." 

Again  he  turned  away  from  her,  and  hid  his  face 
in  his  hands. 

"  Look !  "  she  went  on.  "  I  want  you  to  think 
what  you  have  been  doing.  You  have  been  shutting 
yourself  in  a  prison-house  of  your  own  making. 
You  have  been  losing  touch  with  all  that  used  to 
enter  into  your  nature.  Have  you  forgotten  the 
mountains,  and  the  rivers,  and  the  fields,  and  the 
people  that  live  in  them  ?  You  have  shut  out  all  that 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  287 

used  to  reflect  itself  in  your  soul.  You  have  lost 
care  for  your  art  and  for  your  work."  Then  she 
paused  for  an  instant,  and  a  new  note  of  appeal 
came  into  her  voice.  "  Do  you  think  I  do  not  care?  " 
she  said. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  of  me  ?  "  he  asked  sadly. 
"What  is  it  to  you?" 

"  But  it  is  so  much/'  she  said  vehemently.  "  Can 
you  not  see  ?  You  have  altered  life  for  me.  I  shall 
never  be  the  same.  I  shall  always  be  worth  more 
—  much  more  —  for  having  known  you.  And  you 
will  be  changed  too ;  but  you  will  be  yourself.  Only 
come  out  of  this  darkness  that  you  have  built  up 
about  you.  Give  up  trying  to  see  what  does  not  ex- 
ist and  never  can  exist,  and  let  the  real  things  come 
back  to  you.  This  has  all  been  a  sickness." 

He  looked  up  at  her.  "  It  has  been  delirium,  and 
I  am  wakening.  I  know  it,  because  I  feel  the  pain." 

She  bent  her  head  silently. 

"  You  will  not  take  notice  of  what  a  man  said  or 
did  when  he  was  delirious,"  he  said,  with  a  strange, 
painful  smile.  "  Is  there  more  to  say?  " 

She  paused  for  a  moment  and  caught  her  breath. 
Then  she  rose  and  went  over  to  the  table  and  took 
the  drawing. 

"  This  here,"  she  said,  "  this  is  part  of  the  last 
months.  It  is  a  pity ;  oh,  such  a  pity ;  but  —  " 

He  made  no  gesture,  but  his  gaze  was  still  on 
her,  and  her  thoughts  were  evident  to  him.  Again 


288  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

the  same  sad  ghost  of  a  smile  flickered  about  his 
lips. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  best  so.  Flame  to  the  fire. 
Throw  it  in." 

She  bent  forward  and  moved  the  sods;  a  blaze 
leapt  up  and  on  it  she  laid  the  drawing  in  its  wooden 
frame.  He  never  took  his  eyes  from  her,  but  she 
watched,  with  tears  streaming  down  her  face,  the 
cardboard  shrivel  and  flare,  and  the  wood  catch. 

"  It  is  done,"  she  said,  with  a  sob,  turning  to  him. 
Then  she  rose  and  held  out  her  hand.  "  Good-bye. 
You  were  right  about  the  mirror  and  the  image. 
Nothing  that  ever  hurts  you  will  be  quite  without 
power  on  me.  I  am  leaving  part  of  my  life  here." 

He  took  her  hand  silently,  then  ushered  her  out 
into  the  night.  The  little  trivial  business  of  getting 
her  bicycle  and  lighting  the  lamp  made  a  welcome 
relief  and  transition.  When  it  was  done,  he  spoke 
again  with  a  strange  mixture  of  tenderness  and 
irony. 

"  It  is  your  way  that  lies  lonely,"  he  said.  "  But 
it  leads  home.  Good-bye." 

She  could  make  no  answer,  but  for  a  moment  her 
hand  was  crushed  in  his  before  she  sped  away 
through  the  dark. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

A  BARGAIN  had  been  struck  at  the  house  in  Bays- 
water  that  Millicent  should  have  two  clear  days 
at  Ballinderry  to  accomplish  whatever  she  might 
choose.  After  that,  Frank  might  use  his  discretion 
as  to  the  moment  of  arrival. 

Now,  since  Millicent's  errand  was  ended  on  the 
evening  of  the  first  day  after  her  coming,  it  followed 
that  there  was  a  whole  twenty-four  hours  at  her 
disposal.  As  is  the  way  in  Irish  houses,  she  found 
herself  entirely  her  own  mistress.  No  one  endeav- 
oured to  entertain,  no  one  mapped  out  her  time.  If 
she  liked  to  sit  and  talk  to  the  kind  little  ladies,  she 
was  welcome ;  if  she  liked  to  read,  no  one  thought  it 
a  strange  taste ;  and  when  she  wandered  out  by  her- 
self to  roam  about  the  grounds,  no  one  felt  bound 
to  accompany  her.  It  was  an  easy  place  to  dream 
in,  and  she  had  many  dreams  to  dream.  But  in  a 
day  there  are  many  minutes;  and  though  in  brood- 
ing over  things  past,  these  slip  away  as  quickly  as 
the  ripple  from  under  a  boat  that  runs,  in  light 
weather  before  a  fair  wind,  yet  when  the  time  goes 
in  dreaming  of  something  vague  and  sweet  that  has 


29o  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

to  come,  the  current  of  life  carries  the  dreamer  to 
fulfilment  no  swifter  than  a  barge  is  borne  on  the 
canal.  It  seemed  to  Millicent  that  in  every  hour  of 
that  day  there  were  many  thousand  minutes. 

She  fled  to  Margaret  as  a  resource,  and  she  fled 
from  Margaret  with  cheeks  unreasonably  pink;  and 
when  she  got  back  to  Ballinderry,  and  the  colonel 
waved  at  her  a  telegram  from  Frank  announcing 
his  arrival  the  next  morning,  matters  were  little 
mended. 

"  Well,  well,  Miss  Carteret,  it's  a  pleasure  to  see 
you.  I  always  said  the  Ballinderry  air  was  better 
than  any  doctor.  Here's  a  poor  young  lady  that 
came  away  from  London  because  the  fogs  were  go- 
ing to  kill  her,  and  look  at  her  now,  with  a  colour 
like  a  fine  young  peony.'* 

But  the  little  ladies  came  to  the  rescue,  and  ruffled 
up  their  plumes,  and  rebuked  their  uncle  for  the 
indiscretion  of  personal  remarks,  and  he  retired, 
laughing. 

And  at  last  the  day  ended  and  even  the  dragging 
night ;  and  Millicent  was  dressing  herself  when  she 
heard  the  wheels  of  a  car  on  the  gravel  drive.  She 
was  not  going  to  look  out  of  the  window,  not  even 
from  behind  a  curtain.  One  thing  was  fixed  in  her 
mind;  whatever  happened  she  was  going  to  be  late 
for  breakfast. 

There  are  punctual  households  in  Ireland,  but 
there  are  also  households  which  are  not  punctual; 


THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE  291 

and  in  these  to  be  late  for  meals  is  not  impossible, 
only,  to  accomplish  it,  you  must  be  to  the  manner 
born.  Millicent  listened  to  the  gong  sounding,  and 
she  waited  for  a  time  that  seemed  to  her  intermin- 
able. Then  she  went  downstairs.  But  when  she 
emerged  into  the  big  bare  hall  which  divided  dining- 
room  from  drawing-room,  there  stood  a  young  man 
in  front  of  the  blazing  fire  of  logs. 

She  stopped,  and  she  looked  round  so  obviously 
for  some  shelter  that  he  fairly  laughed  as  he  caught 
her  hands. 

"  Nobody  is  down,"  he  said.  "  Cousin  Cassy  was 
here  a  little  while  ago,  but  she  has  vanished  on  some 
of  her  usual  errands.  Come  into  the  drawing-room." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  after  all,  Millicent 
was  really  late  for  breakfast;  and  when  a  hue  and 
cry  was  raised  after  the  traveller  by  the  old  butler 
David,  and  he  was  tracked  down  to  the  drawing- 
room,  the  secret  was,  it  is  to  be  feared,  very  much  a 
piece  of  public  property. 

"  You  have  never  given  me  my  answer,"  said 
Frank. 

This  was  after  breakfast,  when  the  household  had 
vanished  from  the  drawing-room,  not  without  mean- 
ing glances. 

"  You  took  it,"  Millicent  answered,  with  a  little 
fluttering  laugh. 

"  No,  but  seriously.     I  am  glad  you  waited.     I 


292  THE   OLD   KNOWLEDGE 

wanted  to  play  fair.    I  wanted  you  to  be  quite  sure 
—  of  your  choice." 

She  turned  her  eyes  full  on  him,  in  a  kind  mock- 
ery. "  Foolish  person.  I  had  no  choice.  That  is 
just  the  injustice." 

Perhaps  it  was  half  an  hour  later  —  perhaps  it 
was  an  hour  and  a  half,  for  these  young  people  had 
lost  count  of  time,  that  Millicent  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  said  the  sunshine  was  a  reproach  to 
them.  Frank  jumped  at  a  notion. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  come  out.  Come  down  into 
Strathmore.  You  haven't  been  there  since  —  one 
day  last  summer,  was  it  not  ?  Do  you  remember  ?  " 

And  whether  the  little  ash  tree  bears  initials  cut 
inconspicuously  on  its  stem,  or  whether  Frank  and 
Millicent  decided  that  such  a  proceeding  would  be 
quite  too  early  Victorian  in  sentiment,  can  only  be 
ascertained  by  a  visit  to  the  spot.  But  there  is  no 
question  that  the  matter  was  discussed,  amid  a  great 
deal  of  other  foolishness,  which  is  early  Victorian 
too,  but  has  never  gone  completely  out  of  fashion. 
These  young  people  took  their  happiness  laughing, 
and  it  is  not  clear  that  they  were  any  the  less  wise. 
For  there  are  some  whom  nature  teaches  through 
laughter,  and  there  are  more  ways  than  one  of  win- 
ning to  the  old  knowledge  which  is  at  the  root  of  all 
knowledge  —  a  knowledge  of  the  power  and  the 
mystery  and  the  beauty  of  the  human  soul. 


HENRY   BOURLAND 
THE  PASSING   OF   THE  CAVALIER 

BY 

ALBERT   ELMER   HANCOCK 
Cloth.     i2mo.    $1.50 


"  Mr.  Hancock  has  written  a  telling  piece  of  history  in  fictional  form. 
There  is  a  realism  almost  brutal  about  his  style  in  the  main  narrative,  but 
this  is  lightened  by  the  romantic  touch  which  he  gives  to  the  love  element, 
most  charmingly  introduced,  and  the  humor  that  he  infuses  into  the  politi- 
cal phases  of  the  Reconstruction.  This  portion  of  the  story,  incidentally, 
throws  some  accurate  sidelights  on  the  politics  of  the  times,  and  contains 
more  than  one  graphic  character  portrait.  But  the  dominant  note  is  tragic, 
and  this  tragedy  —  the  decay  of  the  American  cavalier  —  makes  '  Henry 
Bourland '  a  convincing  human  document."  —  The  North  American. 

"  The  love  scenes,  of  which  there  are  several,  show  the  skill  of  a  true 
artist.  No  one  who  had  not  a  fine  insight  into  human  nature  could  have 
written  them.  .  .  .  The  author  must  have  made  a  very  thorough  study  of 
the  political  and  social  conditions  that  prevailed  in  the  South  during  the 
Reconstruction  period,  as  well  as  of  the  purposes  of  political  parties  at  that 
time.  Otherwise  he  could  not  have  produced  a  novel  that  would  come 
anywhere  near  meeting  the  approval  of  those  who  were  actors  in  the  Recon- 
struction drama.  The  fact  that  the  truth  is  approached  so  closely  adds 
greatly  to  the  interest  and  value  of  the  book. 

"  The  author  has  a  superb  command  of  the  English  language,  which  he 
uses  with  fine  effect  when  there  is  a  chance  for  the  display  of  eloquence  or 
a  call  for  descriptive  writing  or  moralizing.  .  .  .  The  book  is  a  timely  one, 
and  being  strongly  written,  is  likely  to  make  a  profound  impression,  North 
and  South."  —  Morning  News  (Savannah). 

"  The  pictures  of  Reconstruction,  and  the  woes  that  came  from  the  rule 
of  the  freedmen  and  the  carpetbagger,  are  painted  with  an  artistic  hand. 
The  book  is  a  valuable  study  of  Reconstruction  times." 

—  The  Nebraska  State  Journal. 


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ARROWS  OF  THE  ALMIGHTY 

BY 

OWEN   JOHNSON 
Cloth.    lamo.    $1.50 


"There  are  new  forces  and  tactics  in  Mr.  Owen  Johnson's 
novel.  .  .  .  The  material  is  so  rich  that  the  interest  does  not 
lag.  .  .  .  All  told  it  is  a  strong  story."  —  The  Herald  (Boston). 

"By  the  grandeur  of  its  principles,  the  sympathy  that  it 
invokes,  and  the  seriousness  of  thought  to  which  it  is  influential, 
'  Arrows  of  the  Almighty '  is  one  of  the  important  books  of  the 
time.'1''  —  The  Courier  (Boston). 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  at  a  glance  that  the  book  cannot  fail  to  be 
one  of  the  most  popular  stories  of  the  season." 

—  LILIAN  WHITING  in  The  Times-Democrat  (New  Orleans). 

"A  deep  sense  of  the  dignity  of  life,  the  triumph  of  beauty 
over  ugliness,  the  sweetness  of  the  moral  struggle,  the  benefit  of 
the  spiritual  in  all  things." —  The  News  (Baltimore). 

"  A  narrative  of  force  and  vigor,  attractive  atmosphere  and  a 
rare  group  of  figures.  .  .  .  Thoroughly  readable,  thoroughly 
entertaining."  —  The  Times  (Louisville). 

"Lofty  and  pure  in  tone,  strongly  human  in  its  characters, 
admirable  in  its  literary  style  and  finish  —  a  novel,  in  short,  of 
exceptional  worth."—  The  Tribune  (Chicago). 


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A    000  031  672    9 


